


Vita Mutatur, Non Tollitur.

by Justley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (did I really need to add that tag?), Bisexual Harry Potter, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, FYI, Fluff, Gay Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Light Angst, M/M, NSFW, Smut, Snakes, healing after the war, hella gay, lots of lovely sex acts, some descriptions of war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-03 17:58:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 68,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10972461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justley/pseuds/Justley
Summary: Harry makes an important choice after the battle of Hogwarts, one that may very well change the path before him.(or the Eighth year fic where things are a little different than they have been in previous years.)





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaroonCamaro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaroonCamaro/gifts).



> Well, this fic is an offhand idea I had one night during a night shift and when I realised a good friend had her birthday approaching I just had to write it for her despite never writing in the HP fandom before. 
> 
> I fully intended it to be a short oneshot and then it turned into this. 
> 
> This fic is not yet complete however, it has already surpassed the 40k mark and it's almost finished. 
> 
> There is, as yet, no posting schedule as my fantastic Beta *1Lostone* is a ridiculously busy woman and honestly I have no idea how she's even fitting this thing into her schedule as it is but I will try my hardest to keep the updates 1-2 weeks apart. 
> 
> (btw, I feel obliged to wax poetic about how wonderful 1lostone is at catching all my many errors and asking the most perfect questions, let alone her ability to brainstorm ideas with me like a boss, thank you!)
> 
>  
> 
> And of course I must also point out that Marooncamaro has been the one person to drag me through endless night shifts over the past six months and has swiftly become a fast and firm friend with her wonderful filthy mind which is always on top form. She's put up with my passive aggressive complaints and British sense of humor like an absolute pro.

He can't look at them; the bodies, broken and prone, all lined up in neat little rows in the Great Hall like some sort of sickening art display. They're here because of him. All of them. Because he couldn't do what Dumbledore had tasked him with without every single one of their sacrifices. He would never have survived the onslaught of Voldemort and all his loyal followers without an army of his own, even with the Hallows and his warped connection with Voldemort. It may not have been him that summoned them, that asked them to come and fight, but they still came _because_ of him. And he can't look at them any more. He needs peace. Needs something light, something...something to pull him from this darkness.

The moment he’s absolutely sure no one is watching him, Harry slips the invisibility cloak out from within the folds of his borrowed robes, his muggle clothes ripped and torn too much to keep out the cold, and swings it around his shoulders. He carefully makes his way out of the hall; sidestepping the bodies and grieving forms of his friends and family, narrowly avoiding the grieving, blood stained faces of the ones who fought for him, fought for their freedom alongside him.

The air outside the Great Hall feels as though it ought to belong on a different planet. Inside the air is thick with despair, loss and the thick and tangy metallic scent of blood. It's rife with a medley of smells that linger once a curse has been cast- the sharp bite of petrichor and metallic taste of ozone from the killing curse, the sickly-sweet and cloying blanket of the Imperius and the razor-sharp tang of the Cruciatus curse all mingle with one another and make sweet water flood his tongue; a telltale sign that his vomit is sure to follow.

As soon as the doors close behind Harry and he takes his first shuddering breath, even as the groaning and heavy creaking of the giant oak doors echo off the walls around him, he feels lighter. He can breathe again. He fills his lungs as much as he can as his feet take him onwards through the shattered remains of the stone corridors, his eyes vacant and uncaring of where he steps.

Everyone else has congregated somewhere near the Hall or outside on the steps and so the castle stands barren and empty. Silent and peaceful. Just how he needs it to be. He passes the ruined entrance to the headmaster’s office, he still thinks of it as Dumbledore’s even after all this time. He barely spares a glance for the broken remains of the gargoyle statue that lay splintered and detached from its perch in a crumbled pile. The alcoves are empty, the coats of armour yet to return. The castle is safe but there’s still work to be done. He passes the stairs to the Gryffindor tower and resists the urge to bully his way in and lie down on his old bed, to hide his face in the covers and let sleep take him. Hogwarts had never felt less like his home than it does right now.

Before Harry knows it his feet have taken him up through the castle and into corridors that are deserted, dark and cold. Giant sections of the walls have caved in, blood and brickwork smeared across the floors, shattered glass covers almost every surface and the dust still swirls in spirals through the air. He glances out of one of the ruined windows as he walks past and sees the silhouettes of Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood, he assumes it’s them anyway, carrying yet more bodies over the lawn. Hagrid, his huge hulking figure stands side by side with his giant half-brother scanning the perimeter, not doubt looking for remnants of the beasts and dementors that had stormed the castle in the Death Eaters’ wake. White and golden sparks shoot through the night sky, a sign of remembrance for the fallen and celebration for winning the war. Harry can just about make out little groups of Witches and Wizards out on the lawn, wands raised towards the stars, the wake for their dead has started.

Harry turns away. He lets his feet take him further, away from the windows, away from the reminders. His feet take him up the marble staircase, stepping carefully to avoid the great gaping chunks torn from the stone. He can hear Peeves singing happily somewhere in the distance, slowly moving away from him and towards the low hum of chatter and sorrowful cries behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry watches the residents of the many portraits lining the walls rushing through to their neighbours, cheering and clapping their hands together in celebration. He ignores them all, lets his eyes slide over the mess and destruction at every corner, he’s seen enough. Hogwarts may still stand but the one place he ever truly called home is a broken wound and he can almost feel the hurt and sorrow seeping through the walls. He runs his palm across one of the stone sills beneath a shattered window as he walks past, he knows the Castle’s pain.

Suddenly he hears a sound, a soft muttering and the low snuffles of tears being loosened. It’s the noise of desperation, of loss and devastation and he realises that it’s not coming from himself even though there are tears still falling gently, sliding down his cheeks in rivulets. Someone else is crying, someone else is here in the bowels of the castle, alone with their grief.

Harry reaches into his robes silently, taking a moment to look at his very own, newly repaired holly and phoenix feather wand with comfort. He’s glad he’d run with the impulse of abandoning the elder wand for his old friend. He doesn’t cast a Lumos, he doesn’t want anyone to know he’s here, wandering the halls in his own grief but he readies it just in case. He’s pretty sure they rounded up all the Death Eaters but it’s been so long since he felt safe, even here, that he’s conditioned to be ready for anything.

He’s not ready for this.

Draco Malfoy sits, crouched on the floor, his arms wrapped defensively around his knees- tears streaming down his pale, ghostly face. His dark robes are singed in places and coated in a thick layer of grey dust. Blood drips from the fingers of one hand, gripping tightly onto his opposite wrist where they’re clenched white-knuckled around his legs. Harry raises his wand, keeping it trained on the boy before him while whipping his head back and forth, checking that no one else had managed to sneak up on him. The corridor is empty other than the two of them and it’s then that Harry really sees where he is. Malfoy is a crumbled heap of pallid skin, scarlet blood and black, filthy robes on the floor outside the Room of Requirement.

The door is blackened and smoking lightly, little puffs and wisps of opaque tendrils escape from the cracks around the door frame and disappear into the night. The room is broken, Harry is sure of that. Dead and burned from the inside out and Harry mourns its loss. He tries to get angry that Malfoy and his cronies had taken something magical and destroyed it. Something Harry loved and smashed it to pieces in their idiocy. But the anger never comes, he’s just...empty, worn out and tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of having enemies.

He considers Malfoy then, wonders why he’s not still in the arms of his mother. The war is over and their side lost, the Malfoys should be halfway out of Britain by now. When he thinks about Narcissa, about how she’d helped Harry to escape, had covered for him as he lay pretending to be dead on the forest floor and he realises that she had been good really, in the end. Maybe even before the end. He thinks then about Malfoy’s refusal to identify them at the manor. No doubt he’d saved all their lives in that moment because Harry is sure as hell that if he’d told them on first sight, Voldemort would have been called right then and there and none of them would’ve escaped. Images race through his mind, Malfoy lowering his wand on the Astronomy tower, the look in his eyes when he had. Malfoy crying in the girls bathroom, lamenting over how he couldn’t complete his task, how his family were no longer safe. The visions he’d witnessed of Malfoy being forced to torture, to watch while muggles and wizard-kind alike found their end at the hands of Death Eaters and Voldemort himself. Harry knew Malfoy hadn’t wanted to do it, or to see it. There had been none of that arrogant, self satisfied prat of the past few years; just a terrified boy sucked into a war he didn’t want to fight.

Malfoy was as much a pawn in this war as he himself had been. The realisation, when it occurs to him is jarring and Harry's foot hesitates mid-step. He was lucky, in a sick twisted sort of way, that his fate had been tied to the light side. That he had been groomed for good, to bring an end to the darkness once and for all and not manipulated into a puppet used to cause pain and suffering. Malfoy had been forced to torture, ordered to kill with the threat of his parent's lives held over him. Voldemort had used him and his parents the same way Tom Riddle had used Ginny against Harry all those years ago.     

Harry steps forward and his foot catches on a small rock beneath him, scraping across the floor and causing Malfoy to shoot to his feet, his head swinging wildly around him with a feral sort of terror written across his face. There’s no wand in his hands, he must’ve given the borrowed one back to his mother before running here to hide. So Harry creeps forward, moving silently while Malfoy peers into the dark corridor, his face turned away from where Harry approaches behind him. 

Honestly, Harry doesn’t really understand _why_ he’s heading straight for his childhood nemesis but something is drawing him forward, his feet are still in charge, disconnected from his brain. Slowly he comes within reach of the pale, gaunt boy wiping roughly at the tears covering his face. Malfoy, obviously deciding that he must still be alone, takes a step towards the wall at his back, an easier position to defend, though without a wand Harry isn’t sure how he intends to truly do that.

Before Malfoy can lean against the wall, or return to his position on the floor, Harry’s hands slip out and without thought he’s swinging the cloak up and over, covering Malfoy and pulling him into its folds, his wand still at the ready and now pointing threateningly into that pointy, aristocratic face.

“Potter?” Malfoy stutters, leaning backwards with those grey eyes, once so full of sneering disdain now wide with surprise and fear. They are red-rimmed and bloodshot and Harry thinks it might be the most human Malfoy has ever looked. Harry doesn’t say anything for a moment, just keeps his wand trained under Malfoys chin and lets his eyes look over the tired, soiled face before him; dropping down to a dirt-smeared throat when Malfoy swallows heavily. He’s not quite sure why his palm is sweating around his wand all of a sudden, or why his face feels as though his cheeks are burning and then there’s the way he can’t seem to look away from Malfoy’s mouth now that it’s not tilted in a sneer.

“I’m unarmed Potter, but I have no qualms in getting my hands dirty,” Draco balls his hands into fists and puts his weight on his back foot, ready for a fight. Harry finds himself surprisingly pleased at the dry, sneering tone because watching Malfoy cry had made him feel uncomfortable, even unnerved, and this Malfoy is the one he’s more familiar with.

“Shut up Malfoy, just...shut up for once,” Harry growls at him, the grip on his wand tightening even though he has no fight left in him to throw a hex. “Why are you here?” He demands, his eyes flicking up and down the corridor.

Malfoy stills, his back going rod straight, nose high in the air in that disdainful sneer that Harry is so accustomed to. His elbows lock at his sides and fists flex out straight before curling back into balls, the blood coating them smearing across his knuckles. “What difference does it make Potter? You have your wand and I’m unarmed, if you’re going to hex me then bloody well get on with it.”

Harry considers this for a moment, Malfoy shouldn’t be willingly giving himself up so easily. He should be throwing barbed insults or trying to flee, not standing there and all but giving Harry permission to curse him. He looks older, Harry supposes that they all do now. War takes its toll and it shows on the face, in the eyes and through the soul. Malfoy looks as done with it all as Harry is. And it’s sobering.

Harry lowers his wand and Malfoy’s eyes narrow. He can practically hear Malfoy’s brain working, calculating; trying to figure out what Harry is planning and whether it will end bad for him. “You’re going to come with me Malfoy,” Harry says sternly. “You’re going to come with me and you’re not going to fight or argue do you understand?”

“Why? So you can hand me over to the Aurors and they can cart me off to Azkaban? Maybe they have a kiss waiting with my name on it right, Potter?” Malfoy’s tone is low and bordering on threatening but Harry’s not worried. He’s just defeated the greatest dark wizard of their time, thwarted his supporters left right and center; an unarmed Malfoy doesn’t scare him at all. “Well as much as I appreciate the thought, I rather think I’ll decline.” He makes to push Harry away from him, to shove him backwards and take off but Harry is quicker and he grabs Malfoy’s wrists in his hands and holds them in a crushing grip and presses them against the wall. He’s pretty sure the look on his face right now is something dark and feral, he can feel his teeth baring in a clear sign of aggression even if his emotions are still detached and don’t quite match the situation here.

He _still_ doesn’t feel the anger and hatred that should be pouring from him, he doesn’t know what he feels right now. He searches Malfoy’s face, noting the grey eyes that flicker down to the floor beside them, the crimson flush of anger that sits high on sharp, pale cheek bones. Malfoy nervously licks his split bottom lip and Harry feels the tendons in his delicate, too-thin wrists flex underneath his palms.

“I’m not turning you in. I’m _done_ fighting this war,” Harry says keeping his tone even and low despite the harsh grip he keeps on Malfoy’s wrists and the grimace still showing on his face. “I need to show you something.” Grey eyes widen just a touch. “You can run, if you like but this….this I think you need to see.”

Harry lets Malfoy’s hands drop and smirks when those long fingers rub the reddened marks around his wrists. He pulls at the cloak, shifting it so that they’re both visible to the outside world once more but doesn’t stuff it back into his pockets, instead holding it in one hand; ready just incase they need to use it. He turns on his heels and starts to walk back the way he came, pausing after a few steps to turn back over his shoulder and see Malfoy looking confused. He’s glancing up and down the corridor, with knitted brows and mouth pressed into a tight line before settling back on Harry, the indecision clear on his face.   

Harry just shrugs one shoulder, like he doesn’t really care at all whether Malfoy chooses to follow and carries on walking. Soft footsteps behind him make it clear that Malfoy has decided to come and he lets a small smug smile spread across his face where Malfoy can’t see.

They walk in silence, Harry leading them both through the still deserted castle and Malfoy following not three feet in his wake. Harry wonders, if the tables were turned, would he trust his enemy at the end of a battle? Probably not. His estimation of Malfoy increases fractionally. _Huh_.

The gargoyle at the foot of Dumbledore’s office doesn’t even attempt speech as they climb over it, only it’s stone eyes follow their progress up the spiral staircase until they round the corner out of sight. Harry pauses outside the office door, listening intently for signs of life within but hears nothing. He pushes the door open and steps inside. The portraits are vacant once more, their residents elsewhere in the castle, celebrating probably.

“Exactly why have you brought me here Potter?” Malfoy asks quietly taking in the empty frames, the cluttered desk and the soft shimmer of the Pensive still sat on the desk before them. “Going to put me in detention?”

“No,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. _God_. Malfoy just can’t help being a complete and utter prick. “I’m going to show you something and then you’re going to listen.” He reaches within the folds of his robes, pulls out the tiny vial of silvery memory that had belonged to Snape and tips it into the pensieve.

“Let me get this straight,” Malfoy sneers. “You want me to stick my face in there and watch whatever rubbish you’ve thrown in and meanwhile you can curse me when my back’s turned right Potter? Clearly you think me a complete idiot.” He crosses his arms defensively across his chest and Harry laughs.

“Malfoy, if I wanted to curse you I would’ve done it a hundred times already,” Harry moves in to stand beside him, grabbing one of his hands and keeping it in his own. “Besides, I’m coming in with you.” and with that, he pulls Malfoy down with him and watches as Snape’s memories play their scenes out once more.  

Malfoy doesn’t speak the whole time, in fact the only thing that moves is his eyes. They flicker around the visions, taking in everything laid out before him. No doubt absorbing the tiny details that Harry probably missed the first time around. When the final scene comes to a close and they’re deposited back inside the office Malfoy turns to him. His face is softer somehow, no longer scrunched up in distaste as he considers Harry for a moment.

“So Severus was on the right side of the war this whole time,” He says reflectively. “Well that’s not exactly a surprise to me, Potter. Why do you think I attempted to avoid him for our entire sixth year?”

“He was trying to help you, him and Dumbledore knew what you were up to and they _both_ tried to help you. Don’t you see?” Harry growls, feeling a little strain of his absent anger starting to coil in his stomach. “There’s more.” He says, touching the tip of his wand to his temple and focusing on his own memories, the important ones that for some reason he feels compelled part with. He tugs gently, pulling the silvery threads out in one go and shudders lightly at the weird tingling sensation across the back of his scalp as they siphon out and dangle from the tip of his wand before lowering it down into the bowl.

Malfoy cocks an eyebrow at him and Harry, quickly losing patience, takes hold of his hand and pulls him back in.

It’s a very surreal feeling, watching your own memories. Like watching some weird drama on the TV, except there’s no Dudley screaming about ‘his TV programs’ or Aunt Petunia berating him for not getting started with the dinner already. He watches from the sidelines at visions of Malfoy up on the tower, Malfoy refusing to identify him, the visions Harry had seen of Voldemort forcing him to torture people. Harry focuses on Malfoy’s face as the pictures dance before his eyes. His brow is furrowed and lips held in a tight line. It’s only when the memory of Narcissa bending low over Harry in the forest and asking whether her son was still breathing back at the castle, that Draco shows any sign of emotion. His breath hitches and his hands grip the edges of his robe in tight fists, a single tear rolls down his cheek and hits the line of his jaw before he reaches up to brush it away.

The final memory to swirl into view is Malfoy screaming in terror in the room of requirement, reaching out into the raging furnace for Harry to save him. Ron shouting at them both and cursing them if they perish in the flames. Malfoy gripping tight around Harry’s waist and the look, that one second of sheer relief and thanks that he sends Harry’s way as they stumble to their feet once the burned out door slams shut behind them. Harry hadn’t seen Malfoy’s face in the heat of the moment, he’d been too focused on the battle and the fact that they had all very nearly burned to death in Fiendfyre. Never before had Malfoy looked at him with anything less than sneering disdain or callous indifference. He had never imagined that Malfoy could look at him so kindly with soft, features filled with gratitude.

When they’re thrown back into the office, Malfoy is panting and Harry watches the emotions flicker wildly across those aristocratic features before walking around the desk and slumping into the Headmaster’s chair, or is it McGonagall’s now? Harry wonders as he stretches his stiff legs out underneath the desk. Malfoy lowers himself gracefully into the seat on the opposite side; his signature poise and dignity firmly back in place, with careful movements and his face closed and locked down once more and Harry feels a rush of confusing, conflicting emotions as his eyes trail over the boy he thought he knew.

“I assume there’s some sort of point to dragging me in here at wand point and forcing me to watch some of the worst moments of my life?” Malfoy says. His haughty demeanor screams cold and detached but Harry notices the twitching of his fingers where they pull at the fabric of his robes in his lap. Harry sighs and leans back in the chair, weariness threatening to consume him and a subtle pounding headache creeping up the base of his skull. He wants to sleep, wants to shut down and forget the world for days, weeks even but this is important. This is his own final battle. The last thing he can do in this war before he hangs his saviours cap up to rest. This might just be the one selfish thing he’s managed to snatch out of this war.

“I don’t think you wanted any of it,” Harry says plainly. “You’re an arrogant, stuck up twat, Malfoy, but you’re not evil and you definitely aren’t a killer.” Malfoy snorts and Harry wants to punch him. “You had no choice in sixth year and I saw you drop your wand. I hated you more than I hated Snape that night you know? But camping around the countryside with nothing to do but think made me realise that you were a fucking pawn just like I was- weren’t you?”

Silence. Harry waits, he can hear a gentle tapping at the tall window to his left. It’s raining and the droplets running down the glass almost look like tears. When he looks back, he sees that Malfoy has followed his gaze and is watching the rain too. Harry sighs and the sound is loud enough to make Malfoy’s eyes snap back to his.

“Your father used you like he uses everyone else. A way to get what he wanted, his place at Voldemort’s side again. Your mother stood by and allowed it to happen right under her nose. Shit, she probably brought you up to always listen to your father didn’t she? Malfoy men, Malfoy honour and all that crap,” Harry laughs but it’s a tired, sick sound. “Voldemort used you more than anyone though right? Made you torture people just to see how far he could hurt and shame your family and your parents were too deep in it by that point to do anything about it.” Harry’s building up a storm now, the anger curling hot and tight within his guts. Fuck they’re just fucking kids aren’t they? Expendable. Inconsequential in the end. And Malfoy just watches him, his face blank and eyes wider than usual but not frightened.

“You’re not the only one that got used, Malfoy,” He says a little quieter. “We all fucking did, it just happens that your family was on one side of the war and mine were on the other. Doesn’t have to be that way anymore you know?” Harry rubs at his temples, his headache spreading quickly now. “They’re going to put you on trial and I’m going to vouch for you and your mother. You’re going to take it for what it is- Malfoy do you hear me? A chance.” Harry stares hard at the face before him.

“Ever the Gryffindor hero aren’t we? So tell me, O Saviour of the Wizarding World, why would you want to defend a confirmed Death Eater?” At those words, he draws back the sleeve of his robe, the Dark mark standing stark and ugly along his forearm. It’s disgusting and Harry doesn’t even want to look at it, in fact if he could pull out his wand and curse it right off Malfoy’s alabaster skin he would.

To be honest, Harry isn’t really sure how to answer that question. On one hand,  Malfoy is a giant prick who deserves to be hexed six ways to Sunday. On the other hand, Harry knows what it feels like to have your decisions taken away, to be used and forced to do things he doesn’t want to do.

“Because we’re just kids, Malfoy.”

**

Diagon Alley almost looks as though the war had never happened. Fortescue's still hasn’t reopened, no one knows what became of him and his shop stands empty still. Ollivander hasn’t yet returned to wandmaking but he’s owled Harry more than once to thank him and has assured him every time that once his health has returned in full he would be reopening his shop once again. Fred and George’s shop still flashes with luminous colours even though Harry knows it will remain closed, how long for they still don’t know. George is….well Harry can’t think of the absolute wreck that George has become right now. It’s just too painful.

“Harry?” Hermione places a gentle hand on his arm and looks at him with concern when he turns to face her. “Are you sure about this?” She asks quietly. Harry nods. He’s made up his mind.

They walk through the crowds of witches and wizards lining the streets, many of them still sporting scars and more lines littering their faces than they had before the war. There’s an air of caution surrounding them all, everyone is still a little on edge in large crowds. It’ll take a long time for wizardkind to go back to the way it was, there are still a few Death Eaters on the loose, having escaped the final battle and gone into hiding and although Harry doesn’t think any of them are stupid enough to show themselves in somewhere as public as Diagon Alley he also knows just how easy it is to hide under polyjuice or a well structured glamour.

Harry feels safe and secure flanked by Ron and Hermione. They’d argued for hours yesterday when Harry had told them his plans. He had insisted he didn’t need a security detail but, as always Hermione had worn him down with her pleading looks and solid logic. They had survived the war together and they weren’t about to let him walk around in the current climate without them.

“New Cleansweep is out mate. Fancy checking it out when we’re done?” Ron asks, nudging Harry’s shoulder and pointing to the gleaming broomstick on show in Quality Quidditch supplies. “Percy’s been crowing about it for the last week and Ginny’s been soaking it all up, reckon she’s gonna try and work on Mum to get her one for Christmas this year. Like that’s ever gonna happen, right?”

Harry chuckles. He can imagine Ginny nagging Molly and Arthur for a new broom now that Arthur has been promoted and is seemingly earning a hell of a lot more galleons, if Molly’s new robes are anything to go by. Harry turns now to grin at Ron who, right now, has sandy blonde hair, dark green eyes and less freckles than usual. It’s an uncomfortably attractive look on him, Harry thinks and he can feel the blush creeping over cheeks that aren’t quite his.

Harry had come to the realisation that he was attracted to boys not long after him and Ginny called it quits. Ron had actually been a little relieved when, a few weeks after the war, Harry and Ginny decided to call it off. They had turned to each other for comfort one night at the Burrow only to realise that they didn’t really feel the same about each other anymore. Molly had cried when they told her, Ron had shrugged and said “whatever makes you happy now mate,” and Hermione told them to give it some time, but Arthur had taken them both aside and told them that sometimes a big trauma changes a person and it was understandable for them to feel differently about one another after spending so much time apart but that Harry would always be part of the family, no matter what. Then one night when Harry decided to celebrate passing 18 in a Muggle pub, he’d been approached by a really good looking guy called Simon who had bought him a drink and given him a birthday snog. Harry’s world had tilted on it’s axis for weeks after that until Ron and Hermione had sat him down and told him not to be such a prat about worrying whether or not it was okay, that it was, in Hermione’s own words, ‘Perfectly acceptable to be bisexual you know Harry’ and that was that.

Harry realises that Ron is still waiting for an answer and he offers an apologetic grimace for staring at him. “Yeah, let's get this over with and we can go have a look,” He turns to Hermione who looks almost exotic with her short cropped wiry black curls, glistening dark eyes and plump, full lips. “You don’t mind do you Mione?”

“Of course not,” She smiles, showing off perfectly straight white teeth that are a lot smaller than her natural ones. “There’s a new edition of _Hawthorne's Healers_ in Flourish and Blotts that I wanted to buy anyway. We can meet up at Caramel’s for a coffee when we’re done.”

They arrive at the shop with no problems, no fawning fans and spontaneous rounds of applause and Harry can’t help but feel grateful at Ron’s suggestion that they come to Diagon Alley using Polyjuice and a combination of glamours. Harry had mainly kept to Grimmauld place over the last few months since he defeated Voldemort. The few times he had ventured out he’d been mobbed by witches and wizards determined to shake his hand, take his picture and ask him question after question. The first time, he’d been on the verge of having a panic attack, his magic crackling around his fingertips and threatening to explode out from him before Hermione had grabbed him into a side-along to get him out of there.

Staying cooped up in Number 12 had been all right. Hermione had moved in with him straight away while Ron spent a few weeks back home with his family. The Weasley's all needed time to grieve Fred and they needed time to do it together. Ron had invited both Harry and Hermione to come with him, at Molly’s request no doubt, but Harry had declined, wanting space and not wanting to intrude. Hermione had refused to let him live at Number 12 by himself with just Kreacher for company. She had located her parents the week after the final battle but the memory charm she’d put on them had been too strong and there was no way to reverse it safely. She had cried for two weeks solid, shutting herself away in her room with only Crookshanks for company. In the end, she had told herself that it was probably for the best, she was almost an adult anyway and her parents had never truly been comfortable with the wizarding world. They were happy with their new life and that was enough for her. Harry still caught her crying sometimes, before she’d hastily wipe away her tears. But they all had their moments now. The war had taken pieces of them all.

So they’d settled into a nice little routine of, well, waging another war on the house basically. Harry couldn’t stand to look at grim and mouldy walls, pureblood propaganda and all the twisted relics that cluttered the house. If he was going to live there it all had to go. Besides, they all needed something to keep them busy. Kreacher grudgingly helped out with little to no arguments. Somehow the locket fiasco had made the prickly little bugger a little less of an arsehole around them all and had agreed that the house needed a thorough going over. He still muttered under his breath things like ‘My poor Mistress what would she make of it’ or ‘Poor Master Regulus would be horrified’ and tried to sneak family heirlooms to his grotty little living space but Harry had soon learned to tune him out. Kreacher had never once referred to ‘blood traitors’ and ‘mudbloods’ in their company, that was about as much as Harry could hope for really.

As much as he appreciated Hermione’s company, something inside him still felt hollow and a little lonely. He didn’t feel comfortable talking to her about some of the things he felt or thought and there was no Sirius or Remus to confide in now. No impartial person to whom he could spill his feelings. Which is why he now stands outside the Magical Menagerie staring at the rows of caged owls and rats just inside the window; his own altered reflection with it’s auburn curls and bright blue eyes staring back at him.

They push the door open and step inside, Hermione immediately heading for the treats and toys designed for cats, now that she has Crookshanks back with her again. Ron scours the shelves himself before picking up a few boxes of owl treats for Pig; the crazily enthusiastic little thing that managed to work its way into Ron’s heart. Harry is left to slowly trail around the shelves, taking in the various animals on display. He doesn’t want another owl that’s for sure, he’s more than happy to borrow Pig whenever he needs to. He just can’t imagine replacing Hedwig like that, not yet anyway. He scans the cats but has no interest in one for himself, Crookshanks is fiendishly clever and actually sort of sweet sometimes but Harry has never really liked cats all that much if he’s honest, he’s pretty sure Mrs. Figg managed to put him off for life. Rats are a definite no, he doesn’t think he’d ever be able to trust another rat again after Pettigrew and he doesn’t ever want to have to picture the look of terror on Wormtail’s face as his own hand turned against him. Toads, mice, snails none of them call to him and he’s definitely not getting a niffler or puffskein thats for sure. Harry was almost about to give it up as a bad job and head into Muggle london to find himself a rescue dog to take in, as impractical as that would be, but then he rounds the corner where it’s a shade or two darker and the air much much hotter. Rows and rows of empty tanks line the walls and he wonders, as he peers through the glass of one on the second shelf, what sort of creature had lived here before and why they’re all empty now.

“Snakes my love,” A gentle voice whispers in his ear, making him swing around violently, his hand reaching automatically for his wand until he realises the person speaking to him is a tall, willowy witch with beautiful hazel coloured eyes and a wild bush of blonde hair pinned tight to her head. “Not so popular these days I think, don’t you?” She continues, floating around to stand before the tanks. “And some others that didn’t like it here,” she waves a vague hand at what Harry can only describe as a tropical tank filled with branches and rock platforms. “Too much magic for the little ones, yes?” She smiles at him with a cocked head, as if she’s waiting for a specific answer.

“Uh, sure. Yeah,” Harry manages, feeling a little unsure of the woman who reminds him rather a lot of Trelawney actually now that he thinks on it. She has that same sort of airy feel about her, like she’s not really on the same plane of existence as the rest of them.

She nods, like Harry had given her the exact response she had been waiting for and points up to a tank right on the top shelf that carries a label stating:

**Aesculapian snake**

“This one is yours I think,” She says pulling out her wand and levitating the tank right of the shelf and onto the counter behind them. Harry isn’t sure, a snake isn’t what he imagined himself with. If he’s completely honest he’d never really thought about it that much before they’d arrived. His mind immediately flicks to Nagini and he almost balks, the memory of the giant snake sliding out of Bathilda’s skin still haunts his dreams. The stench of it, the horrific sounds as it had torn through the long-dead flesh and the gleeful sound of Nagini’s voice in his head, calling Voldemort to them catches up to him in the dark of the night. Still, Harry bends down to look inside and sees a tightly coiled snake; dark, long, slender and bronzy in color, with smooth scales that have a faint metallic sheen. It’s probably around twelve or thirteen inches long with a small strip of yellow around its neck buried in amongst the dark spots that make up the majority of marks along its body. It’s quite beautiful really.

“ _You are the one_ ,” Harry turns to the woman behind him but quickly realises that the female voice he’d just heard doesn’t belong to her and stares back at the tank again. One dark eye blinks open and looks up at him. A bright red, forked tongue flicks out between the snake’s jaws as if trying to get a taste of his scent before withdrawing once more. The eye falling shut. “ _You need me, yesssss_?” Comes the voice one more and Harry wonders what she means.

“ _Why do you say I need you_?” Harry asks the snake in Parseltongue, ignoring the sharp sound of distress from behind him when the snake unfurls its coils and turns her head to the side of the glass to better look at Harry.

“ _I_ _feel you. You are alone, I feel you hurting. You need me,_ ” She hisses then moves her head in such a way that Harry has no choice but to laugh. Her tone couldn’t have been clearer if she’d come right out and called him an idiot. He likes her already.

“You speak Parseltongue?” The woman behind says quietly, worried. Harry sighs and waves his wand to take down the glamour he’d used on himself for a moment, watches as her eyes widen when his unruly black hair and vibrant green eyes creep back into his features once more. The lightening bolt scar is briefly visible again before Harry puts the charms back in place.

“Harry?” Hermione calls to him from the main section of the shop, peering around the corner just in time to see his hair morphing from black to auburn once more. “Is everything ok?” She looks worried and Harry can see her hand go to rest where her own wand is hidden. He waves her off with a smile.

“It’s fine, Mione” Harry soothes her then turns back to the woman who now looks more awed than worried. He grins at her and points to the tank. “I think you’re right about this one, I think she’s supposed to be mine.”

Ron’s face when he walks up to the counter with a snake contained in a wooden rattan crate is the stuff of legends, even _with_ his altered looks. Harry tries not to laugh but one glance in Hermione’s direction has them both bursting at the seams as he hands over his galleons and walks out into the bright sunshine once more, feeling the faint glimmer of happiness that’s so alien to him these days.

**

Back home at Grimmauld place Harry sets the basket down on the kitchen table, ignoring the filthy look Krecher gives him after peering inside. Harry sends him off to find something to do upstairs instead of crowding over his shoulder and making him feel like a scolded child. The bathroom on the third floor still needs completely re-tiling and his aged houself slumps off to see to it, muttering under his breath the whole time. Harry ignores him and opens the basket.

 _“I’m guessing you’re nonvenomous?”_ Harry asks the snake and gets a shot nod of her head in response. “ _That’s good seeing as you’ll be coming with me to school in a few months_ ,” Harry says, looking down at the snake who raises up until she’s eye level with him. Noting her glittering eyes and the way her head sways from side to side as if she’s taking in his features. “ _Do you have a name? Or should I give you one_?”  He reaches out and strokes a finger down the line of her back. She feels smooth and he can feel the muscles rippling underneath her scales.

 _“Isis is my name_ ,” She hisses back at him and begins to wind her way up his forearm, travelling over his bicep and coming to rest across his shoulders, her tail curled around the base of his throat. “ _What do I call you, green eyed one_?”

“ _Oh I’m Harry, Harry Potter_ .” He says absently stroking her tail where it twitches along his collar bones. “ _What do you eat?_ ” He asks suddenly, chastising himself for not asking the woman at the shop or buying anything suitable.

“ _Mice and small things that run and hide_ ,” She replies, leaning around him to peer in his eyes once more.

“ _Uh, I don’t have anything like that right now but I can send Kreacher out for some if you’re hungry?_ ” Her tail twitches, almost slapping his fingers away.

“ _I will find some. You will do better Harry Potter,_ ” Harry flinches, her tone isn’t angry but he’s definitely messed up already. Still, he likes the way she speaks to him, snarky with an undertone of amusement. He thinks they’ll get along perfectly.

“ _Just Harry is fine Isis_ ,” He mumbles as she slowly begins to uncurl and slide back down his body and to the ground, evidently in search of dinner for herself.

“ _Yes Harry_ ,” She whispers slipping off into darkened corners and leaving him alone at the kitchen table once more.

**

Harry had stuck to the promise he’d made to Malfoy the night of the battle. He had spoken at the trials of both Draco and Narcissa, offering his memories as proof of their assistance to him. He owed a life debt to both of them as far as he was concerned and had made that clear as he stood in front of the Wizengamot. Lucius had been sentenced to life in Azkaban, his involvement in not just one but two wizarding wars helped to seal his fate and Harry had nothing to say on the matter. Narcissa and her son were acquitted of all charges; after all, Narcissa had not taken the mark and had helped to aid Harry in his quest to defeat Voldemort in the end the only stipulation the Wizengamot had regarding Narcissa was that she was to be held under house arrest for a period of two years. Even though she hadn’t committed herself to Voldemort’s cause, she had not done anything to stop Lucius and had allowed Draco to be drawn into the fold. It was agreed that Draco had been just a child, thrust into a war against his will by his father. Yes, he had been arrogant and had flaunted his family values but a child could not be convicted for war crimes and Draco had had no choice in taking the mark or doing Voldemort’s, or his father’s bidding.  

It had been decided that Hogwarts would reopen as quickly as could be managed and that all students of Harry’s year were to be invited back to study for their N.E.W.T’s. _All of them_ , Malfoy included should they wish to return. And during Draco’s trial the Chief Warlock Cecelia Horton had strongly suggested that “Young Master Malfoy should return at once to his studies and subsequently make his own reparations to society _._ ”

The school wouldn’t be ready for 1st September much to everyone’s dismay but they all received a letter on the 28th September to state that Hogwarts would be fully functioning and ready to accept students back on 1st November instead. Harry hadn’t been sure about returning to Hogwarts and neither had Ron. He wasn’t sure whether he’d be able to face returning to the Gryffindor tower and sleeping in the same bed, using the same common room and feeling the absence of those who wouldn't be returning or even worse, roaming the halls where his friends had died.

He was afraid that putting himself in a building full of students would be hell for him. The idea of trying to get to class and being mobbed by first years for a photo or by fourth years asking him to go to madam Puddifoot’s on the Hogsmeade weekends made him feel a little sick. Professor McGonagall had fire-called him one morning, Harry suspected Hermione had something to do with it really, and frankly she’d chewed him out over it. McGonagall had explained in clipped, no-nonsense tones that eighth year students were to have a segregated part of the castle to themselves. They would not be separated into the four houses but expected to ‘rub along side by side like the adults I know you have grown to become.’ Their meals would be provided in their very own, smaller version of the Great Hall but any one of them were welcome to join the rest of the school for dinner time. Breakfast, being a rather more relaxed affair would be served in the Great Hall as usual however, Minerva had insinuated that should Harry decide to opt out of it, he would most likely find a house elf more than happy to bring him breakfast in his dorm. When Harry took in all of the changes made to accommodate the eighth year and the unusual circumstances, to keep them from becoming some sort of walking attraction, he could hardly say no.

Plus she had also taken him to task about becoming an Auror again and told him in no uncertain terms that he was required to pass at least a few essential N.E.W.T’s in order to be accepted into training, even if they would be more than happy to waver some of the less than necessary ones for the boy who lived. Which basically echoed what Hermione had said the night before when she had sat him down and told him he was going back, that he had to finish his education if he wanted to become an Auror and help track down any of Voldemort’s supporters. He still hadn’t been entirely convinced until McGonagall had folded her arms, raised an eyebrow and pointed out that if he didn’t go back, the Ministry would probably hound him to attend every special event and celebratory party. She was right, of course so Harry was going back to Hogwarts, for the very last time.

“Reckon Malfoy’s gonna brave it?” Ron had asked Harry one day as they all sat in what had officially been declared as ‘Harry’s lounge’ at Number 12. They were sharing a bottle of firewhiskey between them and Ron’s cheeks had turned that tell-tale shade of pink that said he was pretty tipsy. Harry wasn’t too far off it himself to be honest. He took a giant swig straight from the bottle, ignoring Hermione’s look of disapproval and pursed lips before her head disappeared back into the book she was studying.

“Hope so, I didn’t stand up and defend the pretentious prick just so he could go hide himself away in bloody France or somewhere,” Harry said, with a little cough and a tight voice from the burn of the alcohol sliding down his throat.

“Can’t believe you did that though mate, I mean,” Ron holds his palms out in a placating gesture because Harry throws him a dirty look. They’d been over this before. “I know you were right to do it but, well, he’s still a pointy git isn’t he?” He throws a nervous glance in Hermione’s direction, worried that talk of Malfoy might upset her after what had happened at the Manor but Harry doubts she’s paying attention. Anyway, she’d said it herself, what happened between her and Bellatrix hadn’t been Draco’s fault, he’d tried to save them all by pretending not to recognise them and that was enough for her.

“Very pointy,” Harry agrees and they both laugh, he even thinks he hears a gentle snicker coming from behind Mione’s book.

“Ok so,” Hermione starts, shutting the book and holding it on her lap as she unfolds her legs and leans forward to look at both boys. Ron scoffs beside Harry and Hermione rolls her eyes at him, pushing her bushy hair back behind her ear before turning her attention back to Harry. “It’s about Isis and I think this is very interesting actually. Listen to this,” She opens the book once more and begins to read in her natural ‘know it all tone’ that Harry actually quite likes now that he’s spent years getting used to it.

“The Aesculapian snake” Hermione starts, “is a species of nonvenomous snake native to Europe. Growing up to 2 metres in total, actually that’s rather long isn’t it?” She pauses to take in Harry’s look of surprise and Ron’s poorly hidden cringe. “Anyway, it counts among the largest European snakes. It says here that the Aesculapian snake has been of cultural and historical significance for its role in ancient Greek and Roman mythology and derived symbolism. The name comes from the Greek mythical God Aesculapius, whose snake-familiars would crawl across the bodies of sick people asleep at night in his shrines and lick them back to health.”

Harry frowns at her, he might be just a touch too tipsy to have understood all that but he’s pretty sure he caught the basics. “Greek snakes used in medicine...right.” She sighs, Harry turns to Ron with a look that asks whether he missed anything out and Ron, helpful as ever just shrugs at him and nicks the bottle off him, taking a swig and grimacing.

“She’s gonna need her own room, mate,” Ron says helpfully, nodding as if he’s just passed on an important nugget of wisdom. Harry tries not to snigger at him.

“And, you’ll be interested to know,” Hermione continues a little louder now. “That the name Isis actually comes from the Egyptian Goddess of magic and healing. I think that’s why she chose you Harry, I mean animals don’t usually chose witches or wizards do they?” She says matter of factly, setting the book aside and pulling the bottle from Ron’s grip. She wipes the rim primly and with a flick of her wand conjures herself a glass.

Harry looks over at where Isis is currently coiled up on her pillow at the end of one dusty sofa. He wonders if Hermione is right, Isis had told him she could feel his pain and he needed her. He flicks another warming charm at her pillow, a little habit she appreciates and smiles when she opens an eye to look at him, flicking her tail once before falling back to sleep.

“I think you need more alcohol Mione,” Ron says stretching a leg out and nudging her with a foot clad in a threadbare sock with a hole near his big toe. Hermione turns her nose up at it but reaches for her glass anyway.

Harry thinks that they’re both right, Isis chose him for a reason and Hermione needs to relax and leave the books behind for the night.  



	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the second installment for you all, slightly later than I had wanted but still earlier than I had allowed for. 
> 
> Thank you to all of you who left comments for me, those who have bookmarked and kudo'd too. It's rather daunting posting in a new fandom for the first time, especially going in with such a long fic as this one so I appreciate the support!
> 
> I will add as a small disclaimer that the back half of this chapter is Un-Beta'd as my wonderful beta chick really is stupidly busy right now, but I'm fervently hoping that it's ok, that there aren't any glaringly off putting mistakes but if there are, just give me a heads up and I'll fix it. 
> 
> Again this whole thing is a gift for my wonderful friend Marooncamaro who I do rather like quite a lot :D
> 
>  
> 
> EDIT: 28/06/2017
> 
> Thanks to lost, this entire chapter has now been beta'd so hopefully it'll read much easier. Sorry to those of you who had to suffer through the errors prior to the edit date!

 

November 1st finds Harry standing before the floo at The Burrow with his school robes firmly in place and a nervous energy zipping through his body. His fingers are gripping his wand with enough pressure to snap it in two even though he keeps telling himself ‘it’s okay, relax’ like a mantra he just can’t seem to calm his nerves. It hasn’t felt like this since that first time he stood on Platform 9¾ all alone and waiting to find out what his future might hold. It’s the same now, standing here, staring into the green flames and wondering what this year will hold for him. He doesn’t have a trunk this year, he’s not really sure what happened to his old one during the war, it was probably still buried deep in the bowels of Number 12, if Kreacher hadn’t burnt it out of spite that is, but he’d packed everything he’ll need for his last year at school into a giant kitbag which Hermione had kindly put one of her smashing undetectable extension charms on for him. As Ron would say ‘she really is a gem, that Mione’.

Isis is curled around his shoulders once more, her tail tucked into the top of his robes with her head thrust out staring at the fireplace. She’s surprisingly warm against his skin but then again, she’s just spend the last hour curled up in the folds of Molly’s apron like a baby kangaroo and Molly, who had taken to Isis immediately, was always over generous with her warming charms. She was excited to be going to Hogwarts, it turns out. He’d spent a few nights telling her all about the castle and it’s grounds only to have her ask him why they hadn’t visited there already, she was rather looking forward to roaming the halls and catching mice. He told her all about Hagrid and all the creatures he keeps and how he’ll always have something nice for her to eat and she’d sat quietly, just listening to him the whole time.

“Harry love?” Molly says gently behind him. He turns to look at the woman he’s come to think of as a mother figure and there are tears beading at the corners of her eyes. She reaches out and places the flat of her hand on the back of Isis’ neck like she’s cupping her head and avoids Harry’s eyes, probably so she can make sure she’s not about to bust into tears before she speaks. “Firecall us whenever you need won’t you? And we’ll owl you, as often as you need ok?” He offers her a weak smile, they’ve been great really, the Weasley’s, even though they were all struggling themselves, Molly had always been on hand when Harry had needed to escape and be mothered for a night or two. He’ll never be able to repay her for everything she’s done for him, all the nights he’d spent here, unable to sleep when she’d settled him into one of the soft sofas and provided him with endless cups of hot chocolate and just sat with him in silence, never prying into why he was awake. Or the few times Harry had broken down into uncontrollable tears and Molly had held him close, like he imagines his own Mother would have done had she lived. Molly always cried with him on nights like that and Harry wasn’t ever sure whether she was crying for him or releasing some of the heavy grief she felt for losing Fred.

Harry really wishes he could have made things work with Ginny, Molly would have been so happy to see them both married and settled down with grandchildren on the way-- he hadn’t missed the tears in her eyes when Gin and him had broken the news to her. They’d waited up one night once everyone had gone to bed, Molly and Arthur had discreetly stayed up with them. Harry guesses they were subtly trying to remind them both that Ginny was still young and that they wouldn’t allow anything to happen under their roof. He had felt a tremendous amount of guilt when he had realised that, especially as telling them had been harder than listening to the horrible fake versions of him and Hermione taunting Ron when he had been poised to destroy the locket. Despite Molly’s reassurances, Harry still feels like he disappointed her and taken away a future she had dreamed of for her daughter. Harry is sure that Ginny will find someone better suited than him though. What they had was a combination of a childhood crush, on Ginny’s part and Harry completely misreading the line between sister and girlfriend. Even though having that time with Gin had been good, for a while that summer anyway.  

“Molly,” Arthur warns her in a low but sympathetic tone and she sniffles, bringing a handkerchief to her face to wipe away her tears. “Any time you need Harry,” Arthur tells him after drawing him into a hug. Harry nods, not trusting himself to speak. It’s rare for Arthur to hug him. Normally it’s a handshake or a comforting pat on the back combined with an understanding nod. Harry pulls away and Arthur offers him a watery smile as Harry takes a handful of floo powder and steps into the flames.

“Hogwarts!” He calls and watches Molly and Arthur’s worried faces spin away from him as he tucks his arms to his sides and closes his eyes.

Harry hits the ground with a thump and stumbles out of the fireplace with a dry cough, almost tripping and dislodging Isis in the process. She hisses at him and flicks her tongue out to lick his chin. He hates that and she knows it, but he’d never really gotten the hang of the floo and more often than not he ends up on his arse in someone else’s fireplace or sprawled across the floor with his face in the carpet, very undignified.

“Welcome back Mr. Potter,” Minerva McGonagall calls to him from behind her desk without standing up. She shuffles the paperwork in her hands, throwing an enquiring look at Isis before flicking her wand towards the floo, no doubt warding it once more. Only a select few had been invited to use her private floo and he spots Ron and Hermione waiting for him near the door. “As I was just explaining to Mr. Weasley and Miss. Granger here, dinner for eighth year will be served in their own common room. I’ve given Miss Granger directions, you’re welcome to wander the castle if you wish; we’ve all worked very hard on the rebuilding and there have been a few additions which I’m sure you’ll discover before long,” She says with a slight twinkle in her eye that Harry thinks he only ever saw when she had been purposely trying to undermine Umbridge, so many years ago. “Your year have their own curfew but you will be expected to conduct yourselfs as adults if you wish to be treated as such.” She frowns at each of them in turn before continuing. “I would strongly advise you against entering the Forbidden Forest and I do hope that this year you will actually heed that warning.” She throws all three of them another pointed look and Harry tries not to grin. “Classes will begin in the morning and your schedules will be posted on your common room notice board.” She folds her arms across each other on the top of her desk then adds, “I have no doubt that Professor Hagrid would appreciate a visit as soon as you’re settled.”

Harry nods, it’s strange to be back here and right now all he wants to do is eat the amazing supper the house elves have probably prepared and find a bed for himself. Ron and Hermione head out of the office and Harry is just about to step in line behind them when McGonagall calls to him once more.

“Mr. Potter?” He turns round and she raises an eyebrow at him. “Mr. Malfoy has also returned to us this year along with a handful of other Slytherin students. I will have it known that Hogwarts will not tolerate persecution for past misdeeds. Am I understood?” She glares at him and he feels his face heat up under her scrutiny. He shifts his feet nervously, the scuffle of his worn trainer loud against the bare stone.

“Yes Professor,” Harry nods. “I understand.” He doesn’t say that he wouldn’t have spoken up for Malfoy at his trials if he were just going to give him hell when they all returned to school and he hasn’t told anyone about finding Malfoy crying and broken after the final battle. That had been between him and Malfoy, no one else. McGonagall gives him a stern nod and shoos him out with a short wave of her hand. Harry shuts the door behind him and jogs to catch up with Ron and Hermione who have already started walking slowly through the corridors with wide eyes and turning heads as they take in their surroundings.

“S’weird being back here again,” Ron says as they walk past sections of corridors that Harry knows had been crumpled and half destroyed a few months ago. The last time they had walked these halls, there had been stone, blood and glass over every surface. Now it was clean and whole once more, even the suits of armour are back in their alcoves, although Harry does notice a few bear the unmistakable marks of battle now. “Place looks good as new though, well not new but you know, old as new I guess.” Ron says as he looks around, inspecting some of the newer paintings as they pass. Harry can’t help but think about Neville carrying little Colin Creevy’s body or the image of Lavender sprawled across the floor with unseeing eyes. He squeezes his eyes shut and tightens his fist around the strap of his rucksack. Isis rubs her head along the underside of his jaw, comforting him and filling him with a sense of calm like only she can.

“Ronald, do you _ever_ think before you speak?” Hermione chastises him in a tone so full of exasperation that Harry feels more at home in that moment than he has in the last year and it chases away the decaying thoughts; he’s here with his friends who have been by his side though hell. He can get through this, as long as he has Ron, Hermione and now Isis. He straightens his spine, lifts his head and puts one sure foot in front of the other.  

**

Their common room isn’t too far away from where the Slytherin dorms are down in the dungeons, except that theirs is above ground so no creepy lake view for them, thank Merlin. The entrance is just a regular oak door, large enough to fit Hagrid through, maybe if he crouched just a little. There was no painting needed to guard it evidently, just the bare stretch of heavy wood and cast iron fittings, one giant circular knocker situated right in the middle and a series of brickwork either side that almost looks like some sort of intricate pattern at odds with the rustic constructions of the stone walls surrounding them. Hermione reaches out her wand, preparing to open it but Harry stops her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Wait Mione,” He says, putting a hand on Isis and unwinding her from his neck.  “There’s going to be a lot of people in here and they might get a bit scared if I walk in with you around my neck. Would you mind getting into my bag until it’s calmed down a little bit? Then you can come out and meet everyone? ” He asks her.

“And then I can go and hunt?” She asks and Harry nods with a smile. She hasn’t eaten in a few days because she has been holding back and waiting until she can roam the castle for delicacies.

“Then you can go hunt yes,” He holds her out to Hermione, turning his back to her so that she can help Isis inside.

“Still creepy mate,” Ron says with a small shudder. He’s gotten used to Isis over the last few weeks but he still finds Harry’s ability to speak parseltongue a little unsettling. Harry hasn’t mentioned how he’s caught Ron on more than one occasion trying to mimic the sounds when him and Isis are alone together.

Hermione taps a rhythm out on the brickwork that Harry doubts he’ll be able to remember and the door swings wide open with an ominous creak. The three of them are met at the entrance by a resounding roar of excitement and lots of the old faces rush forward to greet them with hugs and slaps on the back for each of them. Neville grabs Harry into a bone crushing hug, grinning like an absolute lunatic before moving aside to make way for Luna who kisses him on the cheek and tells him he’s looking old. God he’s missed her. He doesn’t even bother to wonder what she’s doing in the eighth year common room, Luna has a habit of turning up in the oddest of places and is more often than not found wherever Neville is anyway. Seamus comes next and tells Harry that he’s managed to smuggle a bottle or two of firewhiskey in with him, Dean follows after, shaking Harry’s hand and giving him a wide smile that doesn’t really reach his eyes. Others from their original year are there, the Patil twins wave to him from across the room as do Justin and Susan. There’s a distinct lack of Slytherin presence in the room however, he notes as he scans the crowd. He can spot one or two whose names he doesn’t remember dotted about looking slightly nervous standing on the fringes but he can’t see any of Malfoy’s old crew and he wonders whether any had decided to return or whether Malfoy was the only one. He looks around again while everyone chatters excitedly around them. Where is Malfoy anyway?

Neville shows them around the room once all the excitement has finally dulled to a quiet hum of chattering. Everyone has separated off into little groups with beanbags, armchairs and stacks of cushions scattered around. Harry is surprised to find that instead of splitting off into their natural houses, they’ve all merged together, even the few Slytherins Harry had caught sight of have been drawn into the odd group. They look slightly uncomfortable still but Harry is sure it won’t be long until their being here is second nature. House unity, at last.

The bedrooms are scattered around the edges, boys on the left and girls on the right, Harry wonders how many late night forays into the opposite dorms will happen this year but he figures it doesn’t really matter. They’re all of age now anyway. Neville shows him through one doorway where there are still two empty beds. Ron slings his bag down on one and Harry takes the other, sitting down on the edge, opening his bag and pulling Isis out from within its depths.

“Shit, Harry!” Neville exclaims, taking a step back with wide eyes, his hand flicking towards his wand out of pure instinct. Harry tries not to laugh. He’s never heard Neville swear before.

“S’alright Nev, that’s Isis,” Ron tells him as he sprawls out across his bed, kicking his trainers off and reaching his arms above his head like he’s settled into his bed back at The Burrow, Harry feels envious of how relaxed he is.

“You’ve got a snake?” Neville asks with awe and Harry nods as Isis makes her way up his arm to wrap around his neck once more, nudging him gently under his chin to soothe his anxiety. Neville moves closer and she tilts her head to look at him, flicking her tongue out to scent him.

“Didn’t feel right getting another owl,” Harry says stroking a finger down her length absently thinking of Hedwig as his stomach drops like a dead weight.

“Know what you mean, Trevor died at the end of last year and I couldn’t get another toad after him.” Neville says sadly, then brightens. “Grandmother bought me an owl though, finally, he’s called Norman and he’s beautiful.” Then he bends down and holds a hand out towards Isis who detaches herself from the tight coil around Harry to slither along Nev’s forearm. She climbs up his arm, around his neck once then travels back to Harry.

Neville leaves them soon after, heading back into the common space, letting them unpack their things in peace, Nev’s like Luna in that regard, he always manages to sense the atmosphere and understand when someone needs space. Harry lays back on the bed and looks up to the canopy above him. It’s been charmed to look like the stars in the night sky and for some reason Harry finds that comforting. He spends a few moments putting a photo frame on his bedside table with the picture of his parents in it, then reaches into his bag for a photo taken at the Burrow with him, Ron and Hermione looking tired but happy, their arms looped around each other's shoulders as they smile for the camera before Ron grins at them both and Harry and Hermione dissolved into the giggles. It might be the only photo in existence where Harry is happy and content to pose for the camera.

“C’mon mate, Seamus has a bottle with our name on,” Ron says as he unfolds himself from his bedding and throws a balled up pair of socks at Harry, who just manages to dodge them in time. Harry sighs but pushes himself up to the edge of the bed, slips his own trainers off and follows Ron out of the room barefoot.

“Potter!” A voice calls to him from his left as soon as he steps foot in the common room and he turns to see Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode seated together with none other than Draco Malfoy in their midst. Blaise stands as Harry approaches and the room goes eerily quiet, all eyes on them then, Harry thinks.

“No houses for us this year Potter,” Blaise holds a hand out for Harry and he takes it. Blaise has long, soft fingers that wrap around Harry’s knuckles and he notices for the first time that Zabini’s palms are a rather beautiful lighter shade of almost pink, such a striking contrast to his dark skin. They warm his hand and Blaise smiles at him. He can see the apology there hidden in the arrogant, model like features. Harry suddenly thinks Blaise's mother must truly be a beautiful woman like the rumors say because up close, Zabini really is quite good looking with his wide dark eyes and lips that look as though they’ve had an engorgement charm placed on them.

“I doubt we’ll ever end up chums, but I’m willing to admit to being a bit flawed over the past few years.” Harry nods and pulls his hand back to his side. Apparently Blaise is shit at apologies. “Pansy’s a little bitch but she feels terrible about calling you out before the battle,” Ron snorts from behind him and Pansy peeks around Blaise to shoot him a dirty look.

“Fuck off Pans,” Malfoy hisses suddenly and Harry’s eyes zone in on him. Malfoy instantly straightens his back and meets Harry’s eye with a completely neutral face despite his flaming cheeks. “Potter,” He nods earning him a glare from Pansy.

“Malfoy,” Harry nods back. “Glad you came back.” Pansy rolls her eyes and huffs, folding her arms across her chest but Harry can’t seem to tear his eyes away from Malfoy. Harry hasn’t seen him since the trials. Back then, he’d looked gaunt with skin even paler than usual with deep purple bruise like circles under his eyes. Harry had stared at him the entire time he had sat before the Wizengamot, watching as Malfoy’s eyes had alternate between staring at his hands and scanning the room in quick, frightened little glances. Harry had felt slightly horrified to see someone as usually put together as Draco Malfoy looking so beaten down and it had caused all sorts of unfamiliar feelings to twist around in his stomach to see. Now though, Malfoy looks as much the same as he always had. Perfectly tailored robes, warm porcelain skin with a healthy glow, bright and calculating eyes and a new hairstyle that suits him perfectly. Malfoy has had it shorn short around the sides but still long enough throughout the top section that Harry just knows it would fall across his face if it weren’t styled backwards.

“Nice snake Potter,” Millicent says roughly from her seat, pulling Harry’s attention back to the others in the room. Seamus roars with laughter at the hidden innuendo but Millicent doesn’t even bother to look up from where she’s picking at the dirt underneath her fingernails.

“Fancy yourself a bit of a Dark Lord do you Potter?” Pansy says quietly only to be silenced by both Blaise and Malfoy telling her to fuck off at the same time. Harry laughs, he doesn’t really blame her, it’ll take some getting used to, this being friendly with the Slytherins after all.

“C’mon guys, who’s up for a drink then?” Seamus shouts over the low chatter, waving two bottles of firewhiskey above his head while Dean does the same with another two. Blaise gives Harry a gentle pat on the back before sauntering over and conjuring himself a glass with an elegant twirl of his wand. Harry watches him as he walks, he really is quite fit after all, for a Slytherin anyway.

There’s a glass of firewhiskey on the window sill for each of their year that they had lost. That had been Millicent’s idea and she had announced to the room during the first toast that they had all lost someone in the war who would always be remembered but tonight none of them were allowed to get drunk and melancholy. Harry was impressed, Millie, as the Slytherins referred to her, is actually quite eloquent and speaks with absolute authority. There’s no trace of the brutish girl who had put Hermione in a headlock so many years ago and after a soft nod in Hermione’s direction, it seems there’s no hard feelings anymore either. So, they had lined up a glass for Lavender, Daphne and even Crabbe though Ron had grumbled in Harry’s ear that the bastard didn’t deserve one. There were a few others that Harry hadn’t even realised they had lost. A lot of students hadn’t returned to Hogwarts this year and Harry had just assumed a few of the dead had just decided not to come back. Until he was put right. No one touched the glasses once they had been filled but they all drank a shot for each of them missed.

The firewhiskey had quite possibly been an absolute genius idea, everyone was sprawled across the furniture or floors with rosy cheeks and slightly unfocused eyes, leaning on each other for support and laughing together. That was the best thing that could have happened tonight, Harry thinks as he looks around the room. The laughter. It’s like a balm for the soul and everyone is reaping the benefits.

Harry looks around for Isis only to find her slithering her way around the room, flicking her tongue out here and there, getting the taste and smell of all the different bodies she would now be sharing her life with. A few of them flinch as she slides past but really, they all react to her much better than he had imagined they would. It helps, he supposes, that she seems to have taken quite a shine to Luna and Neville and had a habit of switching between sitting wrapped around Luna’s head like some mad headdress or curling up in Neville’s lap. What he doesn’t fail to notice though is how Malfoy rarely takes his eyes of her when she begins to move and Harry wonders whether he’s picturing Nagini moving silently around the Malfoy Manor.

“She won’t hurt you, you know,” He whispers in Malfoy’s ear later, once most of them have headed to bed. Harry had just been about to follow Ron into their bedroom but had been inexplicably drawn towards Malfoy standing by the window, looking over the glasses lined up on the sill with a tight curl to his upper lip. Malfoy jerks at Harry’s words and spins around, taking a step back.

“Merlin. Potter, are you always that eerily quiet or is that a special skill you picked up tramping around the English countryside?” He asks folding his arms across his chest and Harry grins, feeling that wash of familiar warmth spread over him. Malfoy’s eyebrow quirks up and he almost looks as though he might think Harry’s lost his mind. Maybe he has, or Maybe it’s the firewhiskey running hot through Harry’s bloodstream but he’s been watching Malfoy all night and when he’d seen him standing here alone, Harry had been compelled to head over.

“The war taught me a lot of new things,” Harry smirks and leans in a little closer, encroaching on Malfoy’s personal space. It forces him to lean back, unfold his arms and brace his palms on the sill behind him. Harry suddenly realises that he’s flirting with Malfoy and for some reason he doesn’t find that as weird or shocking as he probably should. Definitely the firewhiskey. “But like I said, she won’t hurt you. Will you Isis?” Harry switches to parseltongue with the last question and Isis raises her head from his shoulder, looking over Draco with one glittering eye and that flick of her forked tongue in his direction.

“Really?” Malfoy tilts his head, his eyes roving over Isis’ body before settling back on Harry once more. “Yes. Well, as much as I’d love to stand here and be part of this, frankly strange three-way with you Potter, I really ought to go to bed. We do have to resume our education in the morning you remember?” Draco steps neatly to one side with a glance at Harry out of the corner of his eye and heads off towards his bedroom, leaving Harry smirking by the window and feeling just a little lightheaded and tingly all over. He looks out over the almost empty room one more time before heading for his bed.

He sends Isis off for the night, no doubt she’ll return to him in the morning and sleep most of the day on his bed, there’s just too many small dark corners for her to explore tonight. He’ll have to remember to cast a warming charm for her that’ll last a few hours just incase. He pulls the bed hangings closed and changes into a pair of boxers he’s gotten used to sleeping in before slipping into the sheets and casting a silencing charm around his bed. Years of sharing a sleeping space with Ron have taught him to make sure the charms are up lest he be woken through the night with ramblings about the Chudley Cannons and over-zealous snoring. Plus, this way he can slip a hand down underneath his waistband and stroke the growing erection he has going on.

Harry starts off by brushing the heel of his hand over the outline of his rapidly growing prick a few times before even ridding himself of his pajama bottoms. He lets his mind wander as he palms himself, thinking of that very first snog in the muggle bar, what it would have been like to take things a little bit further, to explore his new found sexuality. The guy, Simon, had been confident, pulling Harry into his body and had let his hands wander down Harry’s spine before landing on his arse and squeezing as his plush lips, surrounded by short prickly stubble, had worked over Harry’s mouth. He tugs his bottoms off then, discarding them on the floor and starts to stroke himself slowly now that he’s fully hard. Pictures Zabini’s fine arse, wondering what it looks like when not hidden underneath layers of billowing robes. He’s working himself harder now, imagining kissing Blaise instead of the muggle guy when suddenly the image of Malfoy’s lush pink lips pops into his head. Harry can’t think of anything else as now that Malfoy has invaded his thoughts and so with a quick mental shrug he settles into imagining Malfoy’s pale skin and what it would look like if Harry were to work the buttons of his shirt off and peel it off his shoulders. He’s seen Malfoy without his robes on before, he knows that underneath the flowing fabric Malfoy is lean with long, coltish limbs and narrow hips. He knows that Malfoy’s arse looks round and firm and that his fingers are long and delicate looking while still being masculine. He wanks himself faster and harder imagining Malfoy’s hands covering his, wrapped around his cock and working Harry over. He twists around the base as he pulls up, taking his foreskin up and over the head of his cock and rubs a thumb over the slit at the tip that has a constant drop of precome seeping out like broken tap. He works even quicker, squeezing and slipping his fingers underneath his foreskin, catching on the ridge until he’s coming all over his stomach in an unexpected rush, Malfoy’s dark grey eyes and upturned pink lips in his head as he spills over his fist.

Harry sleepily waves his hand and casts a wandless cleaning charm, he’s been practicing a silent, wandless Tergeo. He’d kind of had to really, sharing a bedroom while going through puberty means that you learn a lot about yourself and the other boys in your dorm. You also learn that it’s pretty damned embarrassing to know that a bunch of house elves would be the ones cleaning the evidence of a nightly wank off your sheets in the morning. So, silencing charms, because nothing’s worse than the knowing looks and jovial shoves or in Neville’s case, the furious blushing you get the morning after a good wank session and cleaning charms are learnt and perfected pretty early on. He doesn’t even feel weird about getting off while thinking about the Slytherins he’s fairly tipsy after all and they are really bloody fit.

Malfoy’s mouth though...

**

Harry wakes early the next morning, with bleary eyes and a lingering headache. Nothing too terrible- he’s not hungover enough to go and beg Hermione for a potion anyway. He casts a quick tempus charm and knows that he has another hour or so before his dorm-mates start to wake. He’d gotten into the habit of waking early after spending so long on the run with Hermione and Ron. What surprises him though, is that Ron still has no problem sleeping in late. No nightmares either, even though Harry knows that Hermione has them still sometimes. It wasn’t unusual for him to climb down the creaky stairs back at Grimmauld place in the middle of the night when his would wake him, to find her already sat at the kitchen table nursing a hot chocolate with a dash of Ogden’s in it, with dried tear tracks running the length of her cheeks. Harry is just happy that last night he’d slept with no interruptions. He stretches himself out on the bed and as soon as he begins to move he hears Isis making her way over to him.

“Good morning my Harry, I found some plump little mice. I tracked them down through the dark places. They didn’t stand a chance.” She hisses softly as she slithers in. He sits up and runs his palm down her cold body as she curls up on the warm indentation his head has left on the pillow.

“I’m very proud of you,” Harry replies with a chuckle. Isis always loves to tell him about her hunts and she’s always so smug and proud of herself he can’t help but feel a rush of affection for her.

“I’m going to take a shower then find some breakfast, are you sleeping here today? ” He asks her as he reaches for the new black dressing gown George had bought him for his birthday a few months ago after finding out Harry had never owned one before. Isis nods at him then curls up and closes her eyes.

“I like them, the other ones,” She says softly. “The blonde one and the one who smells like me and plants.”

Harry grins, he never doubted she’d be happy here, he’s just surprised she’s taken to some of the other eighth years so quickly. He thinks the blonde one is Luna and the one that smells like her and plants? Probably Nev, he thinks and wonders whether he does smell a little like her still, to her anyway. A remnant of his contact with Nagini maybe? She was a Horcrux after all. Those things leave their marks. He absently strokes the locket shaped scar on his chest before standing, grabbing his toiletries and heading for the showers.

Harry has the bathroom to himself and so he sets the water to its highest temperature and waits until the room starts to fog up. He doesn’t have to mind the mirrors don’t steam up here and he can take as long as he wants. The beauty of being back at Hogwarts means unlimited hot water and he shudders as it washes over his skin and raises goosebumps while he adjusts to the temperature. Once his hair is washed he starts to run his soap-covered cloth along his skin, cleaning off the grime from the previous day, the leftover soot and floo powder that clings in odd places. He probably should’ve showered it all off before bed last night but he had been too tired. He’s just thankful that he’d had the sense not to drink too much and saved himself an uncomfortable hangover on his first day back. In fact, he’s pretty sure everyone was sensible last night which is surprising based on just how many Gryffindors make up their year. He doesn’t remember seeing anyone too drunk, Justin and Ernie had definitely been tipsy, Pansy had looked a little red in the face too but he’s not sure whether that had more to do with the drink or the fact that Terry boot had stuck his tongue down her throat. Or maybe that had been the other way around. He’s not sure he wants know really but it had been a pretty good icebreaker.

Harry’s treacherous mind provides him with an image of Pansy, head thrown back against the wall and skirt rucked up around her hips, showing off pretty black lace knickers and he feels his prick start to stiffen. For a moment he’s horrified because Pans really is a bitch, just like Blaise had said but then his focus suddenly switches to Zabini and he gets even harder. He grabs hold of himself before it’s even finished filling and works his foreskin back. He imagines what Blaise would look like without those perfectly crisp robes covering is lean body, all that dark skin and long muscles. Harry strokes himself and runs his thumb over the head of his prick slowly as he lets his imagination run away with him. He brushes the slit of his cock with his thumb, spreading the opening enough to send shivers down his thighs, this is what being a teenager is about after all, he’d spent long enough depriving himself over the last year, now he’s making up for lost time. He wonders what Zabini’s body would look like against his own, that pretty contrast between his tanned skin and Blaise’s dark tones. Not as good as it would look against Malfoy’s pale skin though. And fuck now there’s a thought. Harry wonders, as he tugs on his balls, running the sharp edge of his thumbnail against the skin and strokes himself faster, whether Zabini and Malfoy have ever screwed around before. They’d all heard the rumors about the Slytherins during their sixth year, a bunch of promiscuous tarts, they’d heard. His brain helpfully supplies the image of Malfoy and those pretty pink lips stretched wide around Blaise's dark and straining prick. How Malfoy would sneer up at Zabini with a cock in his mouth, and how Blaise would just look down at him in that arrogant way, grab the strands of that perfect white blonde hair, hold him fast and fuck his mouth. He’s close and his fist flies over his cock now, desperate to reach the finish line. But then it’s him in Blaise’s place, towering over Malfoy as he rams his own dick into that hungry mouth, stopping him from spilling his snarky fucking comments and wiping the cocky, arrogant sneer of his face.

“OH fuckit!” Harry groans, trying to hide the desperate shout in the stream of the shower as he spills his load across the tiles. “Merlin’s pants,” He whispers as he shudders, his arms and legs feeling weak and atrophied as he calms his breath, leaning heavily on the shower wall.

“Are you quite finished in there Potter?” Harry is suddenly, violently mortified to hear Malfoy’s voice, especially after fantasizing about fucking his mouth. Fuck, fuck, fuck! “Because quite frankly, I know there are a few desperate perverts that would enjoy listening to the saviour of the wizarding world wank himself silly in the shower, I Potter, am not one of them. Now get the bloody fuck out of here so I can have a wash in peace. I want to get breakfast before the hoards of students descend upon the great hall all baying for my blood.”

Harry wants to die, would quite happily stay here for the rest of the day until the shower washes him away down the drain, taking his shame with him. But he’s faced the worst and come out the other side and Draco Malfoy hearing him toss off in the shower like a regular eighteen year old hardly compares. He switches off the water, pushes the excess from his wild and as yet untamable hair then wraps a towel around his waist. He wears it low, so it’s just clinging onto his hips, hoping it’ll piss Malfoy off. He steps out into the bathroom, his towel in one hand, soap and whatnot clutched in the other. Malfoy looks at him angrily, his face flushed a pretty shade of pink, almost the same colour as his lips, Harry notes. He notices that Malfoy sleeps in silk pajamas, poncy twat, he thinks, before really looking at him. The black fabric makes Malfoy’s skin look luminous, like the moon had looked out in the Forest of Dean, where light pollution was at it’s lowest.

“There are other showers you know Malfoy,” Harry spits out, crossing the bathroom and resting his toiletries on the skink and running a hand through his hair. He can see Malfoy watching him in the mirror. “You didn’t have to stand there and listen.”

“I’m sorry Potter, I imagined for a moment you were putting on a free show.” Malfoy’s infuriating eyebrow creeps up his forehead again, resting at a sharp angle of disdain once more. “My mistake. However, in future you may wish to reconsider getting off in the communal showers unless you want some horned up degenerate taking pleasure from listening to you moan like a cheap whore.” Malfoy turns and storms into the shower himself and Harry tries not to laugh out loud. He’s pretty damned sure he caught a glimpse of Malfoy’s own prick semi hard beneath that slippery fabric. He checks his teeth in the mirror, listening close for any sounds coming from the shower behind him and casts a quick cleaning spell he’d learnt from Percy one Sunday on his mouth. He likes how it makes his teeth feel clean without the overpowering taste of mint, he never really did get a taste for mint toothpaste.

“Have fun Malfoy!” Harry calls with a chuckle as he heads back to his bed to dress.

**

Classes were definitely not the same as they had been during sixth year, that’s for sure. They had a new influx of teachers for a start. They had a brand new Defense teacher, Rubin Proudfoot whose name Harry remembered from their sixth year, he was an Auror who decided to leave the force after the war and take up a post at Hogwarts. Then there was Penelope Clearwater who McGonagall had hired to offer support and extra tutoring for eighth years seen as they had all pretty much missed a very important seventh year, either by not turning up for the school year at all or by sitting through the anti-muggle curriculum the Death Eaters had forced upon them whilst in control of the school. Poor Hermione had gone a sickening shade of purple the first time they had come face to face, for some reason she felt guilty about impersonating Penelope when they’d been caught by the snatchers. Ron had just rolled his eyes at her in exasperation when they had gone off to spend the evening in one of the unused classrooms to discuss the most efficient method of time management for students.

By the end of the first week Harry was too exhausted to even think about wanking when he got into bed at night and looked forward to spending some time on the weekend catching up on hours and hours worth of lost sleep. Judging by the bags under most of their year’s eyes, the frantic chewing of fingernails from Justin and Nev breaking out in hives on Thursday, Harry wasn’t the only one feeling the strain. Only Hermione seemed to be doing alright and most evenings would find her sat in the common room surrounded by an equal amount of books and students alike.

The second and third week were easier, they had all gotten back in the swing of learning and studying again, Nev’s skin had cleared up and Ron had actually caught him and Luna snogging behind one of the sofas. They had all taken a trip down to Hogsmeade that weekend despite the thick snow that coated the grounds and almost buried the path into the village. Rosmerta had been thrilled to see them all, all except Malfoy, who had sat quietly in the corner flanked by Blaise and, surprisingly Seamus sipping on warmed wine and looking as if he wished the ground would open up and swallow him down. Harry, Ron and Hermione had stayed for a drink with them all before trudging off to the Hogs Head to say hi to Abe who was just as irritable as the last time they had seen him, but at least had clean glasses for them this time around. When they returned to the castle that night Seamus produced a few bottles of Ogden’s with a flourish, how he had smuggled them back without anyone noticing, Harry had no idea. But when nightfall found him slumped in an overstuffed chair in front of the fire feeling pleasantly warm, he stopped worrying about the how’s and just relaxed into the feeling.

Harry was on the verge of sleep when he heard harsh whispers coming from one of the dorm rooms. It wasn’t unusual for arguments to break out from time to time, all the hormones and stress of studying, really it was bound to happen. He was surprised to hear it coming from the boys side of the common room this time, instead of the girls’.

“Oh I see, are we doing this again?” Harry realised it was Blaise’s low tones, completely unimpressed and could clearly picture the raised eyebrows and eyeroll.

“And as I distinctly remember telling you yesterday Blaise, you’re barking up the wrong bloody tree. Now unless you intend make this worth my while, kindly remove your presumptuous arse from my bloody fucking bed.” Harry hears Malfoy and he sounds angry as hell, the words come out as if he’d spat them in Zabini’s face. Then suddenly Malfoy appears in the doorway, obviously annoyed with a frightening frown etched across his features. He looks as though he's about to flay someone alive in a mad fit of anger. He pauses with one hand on the doorframe when he spots Harry sitting down beside the fire.

“Everything alright Malfoy?” Harry asks, slinking down further in the chair, leaning his head back and watching Draco out of the corner of his eye.

“Fine Potter,” Malfoy huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s abandoned the silk tonight in favour of a loose fit Quidditch t-shirt and low slung jersey bottoms, Harry thinks the relaxed outfit suits Malfoy just as much as his clean cut robes and devastating silk does.

“C’mon,” Harry scooches over in the chair, nodding to the space next to him and watches as Draco huffs, turns to glance back through the open door behind him before stomping over and throwing himself down. Harry relaxes back into the chair once more, arms above his head and knees spread wide enough to brush against Malfoy’s. He doesn’t comment on the contact, neither does Harry. He just turns his head and quirks an eyebrow up in askance. With a bored sigh Draco sinks down a little lower and rests his entire thigh against Harry’s.

“Blaise seems to be under the impression that I’m sexually frustrated and need to get my dick wet.” and Harry nearly chokes. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to the way the Slytherins speak to each other. Considering they’re all supposed to be stuck up and aristocratic they’re crude and seem to enjoy being complete and utter arseholes to one another. Harry’s not sure what to say to that if he’s honest, he’s too busy battling against getting hard at the thought of Malfoy fucking so he just blurts out the first thing on his mind.

“So I’m guessing he’s wrong then?” There, that’s safe enough. He could’ve gone with ‘well I’m sure I could help with that’ or ‘you’re not the only one.’

Malfoy snorts and closes his eyes, “What Blaise doesn’t know could fill the Yongle encyclopedia, Potter. Besides Finnegan gives rather splendid head don’t you think?”

“Uhhhh…” Harry’s brain stalls, Seamus? “Seriously? I thought he was shagging Parvati?” Harry says, surprised. He never considered Seamus the type to swing both ways.

“Oh come along Potter,” Malfoy turns to him with an incredulous look on his face. “You’re telling me you spent six years sharing a bedroom with that tart and he never sucked you off?” He laughs, it’s a cruel sound and Harry once again finds himself wanting to punch him. Or kiss him until he shuts up anyway.  “Merlin you really were too busy being Dumbledore’s perfect little foot soldier weren’t you?” Harry just glares at him and Malfoy grins. “At least tell me you got a little action from the she-weasel?”

Harry wishes he had, then at least he’d have a bit more experience than his own hand and he could pin Malfoy down and see how smug the pointy git is with a dick in his throat. “Who Ginny? We, well almost. But, well it didn’t really happen.” Shit, now he’s getting fucking embarrassed because he’s just admitted to Malfoy that he’s still a bloody virgin.

Malfoy looks like the cat who got the fucking cream at that. “What? You finally realized it would be like shagging your bestfriend just with bigger tits?” He holds his hands to his chest for emphasis.

“Fuck off Malfoy.” Harry snarls, shoving against Draco’s leg with his own, he really does want to hit him now.

“Eloquent as ever Potter.” Malfoy sighs, stretching his long neck skywards then closing his eyes once more. Harry is struck by how pale Draco’s eyelashes are, not quite the white blonde covering his head though, they have a slightly golden sheen to them.

“I thought you and Pansy...?” Harry manages after a few moments of silence where the only sound is a low rhythmic snore from the bedroom, probably Ron, and the soft crackle from the fire.

“Good grief Potter are you really that blind?” Malfoy laughs, pushing himself up in the chair slightly and unseating one of the giant pillows beside him.

“Harry.” He says quietly.

“Excuse me?” Malfoy snorts.

“That’s my name you know? Harry.” He says. “Don’t you think it’s about time you started using it?”

Malfoy frowns. “Absolutely not. You will always be Potter and I am forever destined to be a Malfoy.” He says. “Much to my current shame,” he adds under his breath. Harry doesn't know what to say to that so instead he rotates his ankle, letting his thigh brush across Draco's as it moves, he hopes it's at least a little bit comforting. “And in answer to your question Potter, Pansy and I were a thing, back in forth year but she’s got a little too much chest and not quite enough cock for me. Anway, Pansy has been making cow eyes at Blaise for the last few years, oblivious twat that he is.”  Harry laughs, even he can tell that Parkinson’s been drooling over Blaise.

“Well,” Draco starts. “As pleasant as this little tête-à-tête has been I really ought to see if Blaise has vacated my bed yet.” He pushes himself up of the chair and stretches like a cat. He’s all long limbs and pale flesh peeking out where his t-shirt rides up an inch or two and Harry can’t not look at the gentle swell of Malfoy’s cock when his hips push forward and his back arches.

“Malfoy….” Harry can’t help it, he has to try, he’s spent far too long wanking to thoughts of Malfoy’s skin, his mouth and what his cock might look like. But when Draco drops his hands and looks down his nose at him in a sneer that is so reminiscent of the snotty, stuck up Malfoy heir of a few years ago, he changes his mind. “Uhh, goodnight.” He adds lamely

“Goodnight Potter.” Malfoy says then heads into the bedroom leaving Harry alone to stare into the dying embers in the hearth. It’s only when Isis slithers across the common room, back from one of her many hunting forays with a distended stomach, that he heads to his own bed.

 


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the bit where I remind you all that this fic is for my very good friend Marooncamaro, who, especially this week has put up with my randomly hopping online to chat with her just to help me get out of stupid head spaces that keep me up during the night. She's pretty bloody wonderful like that you know. 
> 
>  
> 
> It's also a brilliant time for me to give an enormous amount of thanks to Lost, my beta who managed to crack out the beta on this is record time and not even once made me feel like crap about all the mistakes i made! Thank you love <3
> 
>  
> 
> AND probably most importantly, Lost and I have managed to hash out a schedule and, provided I don't have to re-write whole chapters that means that new chapters will be posted on Mondays. This is the last one that will be out of sync! Thank you to those of you who've shown some love for this story so far :D

 

Over the course of the next few weeks, Harry sees less and less of Isis. She’s taken to spending the evenings away from him, only sliding onto his pillow in the dark of the night or as the morning sun rises, although,  she finds him during the day from time to time. He misses her sarcastic tone and gentle teasing but she seems happy to see him when she finally is around and if he’s completely honest, he’s got so much homework to get through right now that he spends a lot of his time with his nose buried in a stack of books and ink blots across his cheeks. It’s not only her he’s seeing less of these days though, Hermione is always busy, either with her nose buried in a different stack of books or organising study groups, which Harry sometimes makes an effort to attend when Ron manages to drag him along. That is, when Ron’s not too busy playing Wizard's chess with Dean or Pansy who, surprisingly, makes a rather formidable opponent. Either that or he’s trailing around after Hermione looking to get her alone for a few minutes.

The Wednesday night before Christmas finds Harry roaming the hallways by himself. He’s in a bit of a funk and he’s considering taking a trip down to Hagrid’s hut and see if he’s there, but the prospect of helping him feed lizards and birds to the thirty or so Clabberts he has in his hut right now doesn’t really appeal. Harry decides to head down to the library and do a bit of work on his charms essay that has to be in after the Christmas break. It takes him longer than usual to make his way to the library owing to the fact that he keeps getting stopped in the corridors by groups of girls asking him for his autograph. After the third time of being accosted, this time by three giggling third years, one of whom insisted on taking his picture, he wonders why he didn’t think to bring his cloak with him.

When he finally gets to the library he’s relieved to find it pretty much empty. There's a small group of Ravenclaws on one table near the front who look up and begin to whisper frantically to each other when they see him.Madame Pince shoots them all a filthy look from her desk a few feet away. Harry heads towards the back and is surprised to find Malfoy sitting at a table staring with one eyebrow raised at Isis who’s coiled up on the book Malfoy is obviously using to study. Harry watches for a few moments, wondering what on earth they’re both up to because from where he’s standing it looks as though they are having some sort of silent conversation. Isis flicks Malfoy on the hand with her tail and Harry snorts causing them both to turn their heads to look at him.

“Potter, kindly come and remove your _familiar_ from my book, I have an essay to hand in tomorrow and she refuses to budge.” Malfoy says scathingly, shooting another scowl in Isis’ direction.

“She wants you to cast a warming charm for her,” Harry tells Malfoy. “That’s why she’s flicking you. Here,” Harry takes the seat next to him then holds his hand out for Isis to curl around. “ _Where have you been_?” He asks her when she settles in his lap. He pulls out his wand and waves it, warming her scales.

 _“I’ve been following the blonde one.”_ She says simply, like it should be completely obvious to him and Harry suddenly remembers her telling him that she ‘likes the blonde one.” He’d thought she was speaking about Luna back then, but now he wonders whether she was actually talking about Malfoy instead.  

 _“Do you follow this one a lot then?”_ He asks, stroking her gently and nodding to Malfoy.

 _“Yes, I like this one,”_ She replies softly. Harry asks her what she means but apparently he’s used up his quota of conversation for today because she ignores him and pretends to be asleep.

“So, a warming charm then?” Malfoy says, drawing Harry’s attention to him once more.

“Yeah, when she flicks you like that, it’s what she’s asking for.” Harry says simply with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Well, I shall endeavour to please her in future, she gets rather cross with me from time to time,” Malfoy says, eyeing her once more before returning to his parchment.

“Uhh, does she come and find you often then?” Harry asks and Malfoy gives him a condescending look through his eyelashes. It shouldn’t be attractive but it really bloody is. Harry feels his cheeks flushing slightly.

“Most days, yes.” He says and Harry looks down at the traitorous little thing in his lap. She likes Malfoy, well he’s not really all that surprised, Malfoy is a bloody Slytherin after all and actually now that he thinks on it, Isis and Draco are actually kind of similar. At least the dry sarcasm and scathing remarks are anyway.

They sit in silence for a while, Harry just absently stroking lines down Isis’ body and watching Malfoy as he works. There’s no hope in hell of him concentrating on his own homework, not when Malfoy’s fingers look both delicate and strong gripped around his quill. Or the way he chews on the end of it with a furrowed brow while he’s thinking. Harry can’t stop watching Malfoy’s face as it scrunches up in concentration or the way his lips purse before he erases a mistake he’s made. It’s not often he gets a chance to study Draco like this, without an insult or two being thrown his way or having one of his fellow Gryffindors giving him shit about it.

“Potter, the whole silent and broody staring is frankly rather frightening,” Malfoy suddenly says without looking up from his book. “Don’t you have anything better to do than sit there and watch me work?”

“Not really,” Harry shrugs and suppresses a chuckle at Malfoy’s annoyed huff. Isis get up not ten minutes later and heads off into the dark corners of the library. She probably heard a mouse or two scuttling around and he’ll hear about them later no doubt. He’s just about to finally start working on his essay, even though it’s quite late by this point, when Malfoy shuts his book and stretches his neck from side to side, wincing a the series of cracks that come with the movement. He stands, splaying those delicate fingers across the desk and cocks his head at Harry.

“Come on Potter, Pince is giving us a dirty look and I fear she may have and apoplectic fit if we stay here much longer,” Malfoy nods towards the front desk where Madame Pince clearly looks moments away from heading over and shooing them out. He’s been on the wrong end of her temper before and he has no intentions of doing so again. He stands up, stretching himself while Malfoy returns the book to, no doubt, the exact place he got it from and then follows him out into the corridor.   

They walk in silence, Harry doesn't really know what to say, he's still reeling from finding out that Isis has been hanging around with Malfoy all this time, that she likes him more than anyone else, except himself of course. Halfway back to their common room, just as they round a corner, Harry spots the same third years from before and has no intention of being accosted by them again, especially not in front of Malfoy; he’d never hear the bloody end of it. Thinking quickly, he grabs Malfoy by the arm, ignoring his protests and pulls him into one of the many secret tunnels hidden behind a tapestry.

“Potter, what the fuck?” Malfoy almost shouts and Harry pins him against the wall with a hand over his mouth to shut him up. As soon as it’s quiet, Harry lets out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding. He slumps forward, his breath coming in little pants before he suddenly becomes aware of the fact that he has Malfoy pressed against the wall, their bodies flush against one another and he’s breathing heavily into Draco’s neck. He drops his hand and shoots backwards until his back hits the wall behind him, his face burning with embarrassment and his eyes wide in mild horror. Because Malfoy had smelt _good_ , had _felt_ good pressed against him and Harry is suddenly, violently reminded of wanking to Malfoy’s bloody lips. Harry reaches for his wand for a distraction and whispers a quick lumos but aims his wand towards the ground instead of holding it high in the hopes that he can hide the deepening flush he can feel across his cheeks. Malfoy dusts off his robes haughtily and then glares at Harry in the dim light.

“Care to explain why I’ve just been manhandled and dragged into a...” He turns his head to look around him before raising an eyebrow up almost into his hairline. “A bloody _tunnel_? Potter what the fuck are we doing in here?”

“I’ve had a gut full of being asked for a photo or to sign someone’s defense textbook or some fucking Prophet article,” Harry says, the words coming out in an awkward and embarrassed rush. “I just want to be left alone, to finish my damn N.E.W.T’s and get a job because I’m good at it and not because I went up against some megalomaniac and survived. I want to be able to get pissed with my friends, or get shagged and not have to worry about it being front page news.” and shit he really hadn’t meant to blurt all that out like bloody word vomit, especially to Malfoy of all people but for the first time in years being here, with Malfoy is making him _nervous_.  

“Well, rest assured Potter, you aren’t the only one who will have their footsteps dogged by those rabid trolls over at the Prophet. At least your media coverage will be about how our wonderful saviour is living his perfect post-war life.” Draco says, a hint of sadness underneath the many layers of disgust as he runs a hand down the front of his robes, his fingers stopping to pluck off a stray bit of dust settled on his chest.

“In fact,” Draco adds quietly, reaching up and smoothing his hair back in that subtly arrogant way that is just _so_ Malfoy. “I never did thank you for your assistance at mine and my mother's’ hearings. I dread to think what would've become of us both had you not spoken in our favour.” Malfoy steps across the narrow tunnel until he’s standing almost toe to toe with Harry. Harry finds himself looking up into Draco’s cool grey eyes, there’s only maybe an inch or two between them in height but standing here, with Malfoy looking down at him like _that_ makes Harry feel another wave of nerves. It’s quite a rush actually and his heart starts to speed up, quickly thudding against his chest. His palms begin to sweat down the crease lines and his mouth is suddenly dry as Aunt Petunia’s sponge cake. He’s so stunned at the sudden change in tone that he doesn’t even have the presence of mind enough to flinch when Draco’s hand reaches out and grips the back of his neck pulling him closer as he leans in. And oh god Draco is so bloody close now and Harry can’t really believe this is happening, that somehow he hasn’t been Confunded but he’s definitely _not_ imagining it when Draco’s tongue peeks out to lick across those lips or when Malfoy’s eyelids drop to half mast as he leans in and down towards Harry.

Malfoy’s lips are soft and warm against his own and Harry’s breath catches in his throat with a soft choking sound of surprise even as his own hands land on Draco’s hips and pull him closer. Harry’s wand clatters to the floor, rolling a few feet away with the tip still casting a soft lumos and throwing shadows that dance as it rolls. He’s on autopilot when his eyes close, his tongue swipes across Malfoy’s lips and dips just past the soft pink flesh; touching lightly over the tops of those perfectly straight white teeth. Draco tastes sweet like vanilla and Harry finds himself trying to remember what they’d had for dessert after dinner. Then Malfoy is moving against him and Harry can feel the swell of Draco’s cock against his own. The friction drives all thoughts of dinner out of his head because he hadn’t even realised he was hard himself but he is, almost painfully so. Draco pushes him back hard against the wall and puts his palms against the cold, bare rock either side of Harry’s head, caging him in and filling Harry’s nose with the smell of him. It’s something Harry doesn’t ever think he’ll be able to describe because he hasn’t had access to the no doubt expensive potions and perfumes that Malfoy does, but he knew that he’d never in his life forget that smell mixed in with the scent of damp earth and raw stone.

That one fateful kiss from Simon at Harry’s eighteenth birthday has nothing on this. His skin feels like it’s been tortched by Hagrid’s Blast-Ended Skrewts as Malfoy’s mouth moves against Harry’s lips and his tongue searches the inside of Harry’s mouth. Harry moves his hands from Malfoy’s hips around to the front of his robes, searching for the fastenings and opening just enough to push his hands inside. His fingers don’t even get the chance to search out skin before Draco is pulling back, a bright pink flush high across his cheekbones. His skin looks milky white in this low light and it makes the reddened cheeks stand out in such a way that fuels Harry’s lust. He has no intentions of letting Draco get away, not now, not after _that_.

“Malfoy,” Harry whispers and he’s slightly horrified at how desperate the sound of his voice is.

“Have you ever sucked cock Potter?” Malfoy says breathlessly and Harry shakes his head, his hands are trembling now and his knees are starting to feel a little weak at the sight of Malfoy looking ruffled and turned on in front of him. Draco’s fingers work quickly to open up his perfectly tailored robes, pushing them back and revealing a soft, white undershirt and dark woolen trousers. Malfoy looks fit under his clothes, tight and lean. Harry wants to run his hands all over that beautiful milky white skin. His eyes watch hungrily as Draco starts on the fastenings of his trousers, spreading the placket wide open and pushing the fabric down over his hips. Black boxers are the only thing separating Harry from the tenting of Malfoy’s cock and even in the dim light he can see the little wet spot spreading around the head of his prick.

“This will be a little difficult with you standing up,” Malfoy says with a raised eyebrow. His hand is palming his cock through the fabric of his boxers and Harry can’t stop watching. “On your knees then.” Harry sinks, feeling the rough stone at his back as he lowers himself onto the ground, spreading his knees wide to give his own prick a little more room. His face is so close to Malfoy’s cock right now, watching as Malfoy  kneaded it  under long fingers. He licks his lips and looks up at Draco’s face expectantly.

“Fuck Potter,” Malfoy breaths as he steps closer and lowers the dark fabric of his boxers, letting his prick spring free. And _god_ is that a wonderful sight. Harry hasn’t ever seen another cock this close up before. It’s long, thick and so very pale down the shaft yet bright red around the tip still covered by foreskin. The head of Malfoy’s cock is wet, as he wraps a hand around himself and draws the foreskin back Harry can see just how red the head is. _Beautiful_. “Fucking fifth year Potter, that’s how fucking long I’ve been wanking off to the thought of you on your knees with my cock slipping in and out of that mouth of yours.” Harry looks up at that, shocked that Malfoy had even considered doing this with Harry before. He’d never thought of Malfoy like that before this year and, as he looks up at Malfoy’s face, flushed red with embarrassment Harry realises that he really Malfoy probably hadn’t meant to let that little bit of information slip out.

Harry groans, completely turned on by the fact that Malfoy has wanked over him in the past, he leans forward slightly and filling his nostrils with the musky scent of Malfoy’s prick and it makes his mouth water and his prick twitch almost violently. He looks back up at Draco towering over him with his teeth digging into his bottom lip and Harry lets his jaw fall open just a touch, a silent invitation, or a plea. He’s not really sure. “Tell me how, Malfoy,” He manages to say around lips that feel numb with the rush of endorphins running through his veins.

“Merlin fuck,” Malfoy grits out. “Stick your tongue out, that’s it.” Draco’s voice is a hoarse whisper as he rubs his cockhead across Harry’s tongue, smearing pre-come along Harry’s lips on the way. “Now lick me, right over the top oh _yes_ ,” Harry twirls his tongue around the head of Malfoy’s cock, slipping the tip just under the foreskin even as Draco drags his hand down the shaft, rolling the taut skin down and exposing the rim of the head, all bright red and throbbing. He licks the underside, rolling his tongue around the tip and over the leaking slit, grinning at the undignified noises falling from Malfoy’s throat. Harry feels an uncharacteristic rush of power knowing that it’s _his_ mouth drawing those sounds from Malfoy, perfectly poised and bloody arrogant Malfoy going to pieces over something Harry is doing to him. It makes Harry’s heart beat even faster, his prick throb and he’s sure he can feel it seeping out precome against his pants.

Draco puts a hand on Harry’s forehead, forcing him to tilt his head back and look up into those heated grey eyes that now look almost silver, framed by beautiful honey coloured lashes. “Take your cock out, I want to see you get off while I fuck your mouth, Potter,” Malfoy orders and with his head still held at an awkward angle; Harry fights with the fastenings of his robe, pushing the folds aside, frantically ripping open the button and zip of his jeans and pulling his throbbing prick out until it lays hot and heavy in his hand.

“Good, now open up and for goodness sake Potter mind your teeth,” Malfoy says, releasing the pressure on Harry’s forehead and pressing his cock into Harry’s waiting mouth. It tastes tangy, a little salty and the heavy smell of musk is stronger this close up but none of it is unpleasant. Quite the opposite actually-- it makes Harry’s own dick throb in his hand and he starts to wank himself slowly. He closes his lips around the shaft as Malfoy pushes in deeper. Harry groans and Malfoy follows suit. Harry moans again, louder this time and Malfoy’s hips stutter, pushing his prick even further into Harry’s mouth. Harry wonders what it feels like to have someone’s mouth around your prick and feel the vibrations running up and down your cock, Malfoy certainly seems to enjoy it because when Harry does it again as he twists his hand around the head of his own prick, Malfoy places a hand on the back of Harry’s head, digs his fingers in and starts guiding Harry up and down his cock.

Harry gets the rhythm down pretty quickly and before long he’s wanking himself in time to the tight suction around Draco’s shaft. Malfoy’s hand stays firm and comforting around the back of Harry’s head, his other one rests palm down against the cold stone wall. Harry feels contained, with Malfoy leaning over him, his robes creating a curtain of secrecy around them both, even though it’s unnecessary in the dim light from Harry’s discarded wand in this deserted tunnel.

“Suck harder Potter, yes, just like that. Merlin who knew the Saviour of the wizarding world would be such a bloody good cocksucker,” Malfoy’s words spill from his lips uncontrollably, low and quiet and Harry isn’t really even sure Draco is talking to him. Harry sucks and licks and pulls on his own cock until he feels himself getting close. He never imagined being on his knees with someone else’s prick half into his throat would be this fucking erotic. His cock throbs in his hand and he tightens his grip trying to hold off the inevitable. He can feel his muscles quivering with the uncontrollable urge to let go and a long, low moan builds in his chest and reverberates through his throat.  

“Come on Potter,” Malfoy grits out between clenched teeth as Harry looks up at him with liquid pooling at the corners of his eyes and spittle covering his mouth and chin. “Come on, I know you’re close. Come with my cock down your throat.” He groans, pushing further into Harry’s mouth and thrusting in tight, shallow motions, Harry’s throat threatens to close up on him, almost setting off his gag reflex and he swallows hard which drags a sound almost like a snarl out of Malfoy. Harry’s hand speeds up; pulling and tugging at himself at a furious pace now, he can barely breathe around Draco’s prick, his nostrils flare trying to take in enough oxygen to satisfy his thrumming heartbeat and thundering lungs. He feels Malfoy’s balls against his chin tightening and it sets off the same reaction within himself. His cock pulses between his fingertips and he resists the urge to clench his jaw in fear of catching Draco with his teeth.

“Fuck! Merlin, holy _fuck_ , that’s it Harry, just. Fucking. Like. _That_ ,” Malfoy grunts, each word punctuated by a shallow thrust and the tightening of Draco’s fingers in Harry’s hair. But it’s not the filthy words spewing from Malfoy’s perfectly pretty mouth, the motion of his own hand flying over his cock or the heavy pulsing weight of Draco in his mouth that pushes Harry over the edge. It’s the way Malfoy had called him _Harry_ , strained and desperate, the first time he’s ever heard Draco use his first name and it sounded so fucking perfect that it has Harry spilling over his fist and across the cold stone floor. It sets off a chain reaction, Harry’s body shaking and jerking, his mouth twitching as the moans spill from his lips. Malfoy’s hand freezes on the back of Harry’s skull and suddenly his mouth is flooded with hot, salty fluid that almost makes him gag as it hits the back of his throat and coats his tongue.

“Swallow it Potter. Swallow quick, it’ll make it easier,” Malfoy hisses as he slowly begins to draw his still pulsing, throbbing and dripping cock from Harry’s mouth. Harry does swallow, his throat works at forcing the foreign liquid down, trying to ignore the way it makes him want to gag. It’s not because it tastes bad but it’s warm and thick and he’s never done this before.

The moment Malfoy pulls free, he runs a thumb over the drop of come that lingers across Harry’s lips bringing it to his own mouth to taste. “Fuck,Malfoy!” Harry groans, falling back on his heels, his head hitting the wall behind him. He watches as Draco redresses himself with shaking limbs and Harry tugs his own trousers closed, gently handling is sensitive prick and reaching for his wand to cast a quick scourgify on the ground between Malfoy’s feet. When he’s tucked away and his robes are back in place once more, he shifts his feet from underneath him, ignoring the cracking of his kneecaps as he settles on the floor to catch his breath. Malfoy, now fully dressed and looking thoroughly fucked out with his hair falling over his eyes and lips bruised from the teeth that had clenched down on them, sinks to the ground in front of Harry.

“You called me Harry,” Harry blurts out once he’s caught his breath enough to speak. Malfoy’s eyes dart to his, then trail down his body before resting once more on his face.

“Did I?” Malfoy says, his tone thoughtful yet a tiny bit sarcastic. “Well, I suppose we all relinquish control over our vocabulary every now and then. I shall endeavour to keep my _tongue_ in check next time.”

Harry laughs but feels a little thrill at the way Malfoy had put emphasis on the word _tongue_. “Next time Malfoy? I really hope you don’t. Fuck do you even know what you sound like? I’m pretty sure that was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.” Malfoy’s mouth twitches;  he’s holding back a smug grin Harry can tell.

“I admit, having Harry Potter on his knees with my prick in his mouth was rather pleasing.” Draco smirks at him. “And yes, I think we’d be foolish not to do _that_ again, although next time we might want to try it somewhere a little less dungeon chic, don’t you think?”

They make it back to the common room just in time to catch Parvati and Blaise in a rather compromising position on one of the extended sofas underneath the wide window. It’s snowing outside and the common room is dark, only the moon highlighting the thick flakes drifting past the window panes but still, there’s no mistaking what the two had been up to, or about to get up to at least.

“For fuck’s sake Blaise you bloody slag, _here_? In the common room where anyone could walk in?” Malfoy sneers, Harry is sure that Draco isn’t actually complaining about them getting off in a semi public place, he suspects it has rather a lot more to do with Parkinson being head over heels for Blaise and Malfoy feeling protective over her than anything else. “I thought you had more decency than that.” Malfoy spins on his heels with a huff and storms off towards his bedroom without even a backward glance in Harry’s direction. Parvati grins sheepishly as she wraps her robes back around her and scurries off towards the girls’ dorms with a little wave over her shoulder at Zabini.

“Who pissed in his cauldron, Potter?” Blaise asks Harry, looking for all the world like he hadn’t almost been caught with his pants down and hasn’t just been chewed out by his best friend. “Have you two been swinging your dicks around again?” and Harry has to hold back the hysterical laughter that attempts to break free of his chest.

Tonight has been a very strange night.

“Nothing to do with me,” Harry shrugs. “Maybe you should ask him about it?” He offers then heads into his own dorm. Thankfully it sounds as though Ron remembered the silencing charm around his bed tonight because the only thing Harry hears as he flops down on his bed is the soft patter of snow falling against the window pane. He strips out of his clothes, leaving them in a heap at the foot of the bed and crawls under the covers. Isis is waiting for him tonight; she’s already asleep and he listens to the snow and the gentle creaking of the pipes as he falls asleep with her tail wrapped protectively around his wrist.

** 

Harry decided not join the Weasleys at the burrow for Christmas this year. Even though Ginny and him had ended on fairly good terms, their friendship hadn’t really been the same since coming back to school. She tended to stick to her year group more often than not now, what with eighth year having more than a fair few of her exes, she seemed more than content to distance herself from the group. Spending a week at the Burrow with Ginny would be more than awkward to say the least. Then of course there was Molly to think about-- she’d fuss and worry over Harry and no doubt she would do everything she could to encourage Gin and him to get back together. Harry knows Molly means well but he’s not interested in spending the entire week sat at the dinner table next to his ex-girlfriend. Plus, the loss of Fred still hangs weighted and heavy over the Weasley clan and Harry, still feeling somewhat responsible, doesn’t think he can face George. Not yet anyway. Not at Christmas.

He’d considered returning back to Grimmauld place for the week but the idea of spending it cooped up and wishing he could have Sirius and Remus back in his life was too much for him. Then there was Kreacher, Harry was absolutely sure there wasn’t enough Firewhiskey in the world to deal with him over the Christmas holidays. So Harry had decided to stay at Hogwarts, use the time to catch up on his studies and maybe some sleep while he’s at it. Really, since the end of the war, he’s hardly been left alone for any length of time. Hermione and Ron had always been there to make sure he didn’t slip into depression and as much as he’s grateful for them he thinks now that a little time by himself might feel quite nice.

Once everyone else has left to go spend time with their families, Harry heads back to the common room, avoiding the Great Hall. Hardly any students have opted to stay behind at the castle this year which isn’t a great surprise. This is the first Christmas after the war after all, he’s more surprised that so many kids had come back to Hogwarts so soon after Voldemort’s demise. Even still, he’s not interested in being the focus of other people’s whispers and stares. So he lets his feet carry him up the stairs and through the deserted corridors, ignoring the cheers and shouts of greetings from the paintings as he passes. He’s concentrating on settling into that one cuddle chair that sits right in front of the fireplace and how he’s going to open the bottle of Ogden’s finest Seamus had given to him last night.

Harry stops short at the sight of Malfoy sat in the very same chair he’d intended to take advantage of tonight, he’s dressed in a thick grey jumper and dark, slim-fitting trousers. Malfoy’s feet are bare and Isis is curled around his left forearm her head swaying as he speaks to her in hushed tones. Harry can’t make out what he’s saying, but the sight of the two of them settled in front of the fire makes him feel warm and a little tingly inside.

 _“Isis, I wondered where you’d gone,”_ Harry says chuckling a little when both her and Draco whip round to stare at him.

 _“This one told me you like his snake but I haven’t met another one in the castle Harry,”_ Harry snorts and throws an amused look in Malfoy’s direction.

 _“Don’t pay any attention to him, he’s a prat.”_ Harry tells her as he walks towards them both. “You should know whatever you tell her she’ll report back to me Malfoy.” He says with a raised eyebrow. “Back in a sec.” He heads to his bedroom and rummages through his sprawl of belongings to find the bottle, grabs his own glass and pinches the one from Ron’s bedside table on the way past.

“Budge up,” Harry nudges Draco’s foot with his own ignoring the irritated huff and scowl Malfoy throws him as he shifts sideways leaving just enough room for Harry to sit.

“What did your traitorous serpent spill on me then Potter?” Draco asks, taking the full glass Harry offers him.

“She told me you said I like your snake. You really are a cock, you know, Malfoy?” Harry laughs.

“Well, I’m not wrong am I?” Draco smirks. “If I remember rightly you enjoyed becoming familiar with my little _pet_ the other night.” He downs half his glass and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and turns his light grey eyes on Isis, watching her scales undulate around his arm as she moves. “And evidently she doesn’t tell you _all_ of my secrets.”

“I don’t think I want to know actually,” Harry shrugs downing the majority of his own drink. The heat from the alcohol warms his face and he can feel his cheeks becoming pink, whether from the fire, the Ogdens or from how bloody fuckable Malfoy looks with his casual knit jumper and his knees spread wide. Harry suddenly has the urge to kneel down on the hearth rug and rub his cheek along the ridge of Draco’s cock until it gets hard. He settles for finishing his drink and pouring both him and Malfoy a top up.

 _“Isis, I hate to ask this of you but I need to speak to Draco alone for a bit,”_ Harry tells her. Malfoy had promised him there would be a next time and right now they’re the only two eighth years left in the castle. They have beds, showers and the entire common room to themselves. Harry plans on taking full advantage of that over the next week.

 _“Hagrid promised me something special,”_ She tells him, unwinding herself from Draco’s arm and slithering over Harry’s lap. She flicks her tongue at his knuckles as she passes. _“Be gentle with the Malfoy boy, he is fragile.”_ she warns him as she goes.

“She really likes you, you know?” Harry tells Draco.

“Yes I sort of figured that one out for myself,” Malfoy answers sharply. “She’s quite a good listener,” he adds in a much softer tone. Harry snorts, of course she’s a good listener, Draco can’t understand her when she speaks, still it’s nice that Malfoy can speak to her about things he might not be able to tell anyone else. It’s exactly what she had done for him in those first few weeks together. In fact he’s pretty sure that without Isis around to listen to him he might have gone a little crazy.

“You decided not to go back home for the holidays then?” Harry asks.

“Evidently not, as I’m currently sitting here on Christmas Eve drinking with you, _and your snake,”_ Harry doesn’t miss the innuendo there, he also doesn’t answer. He’s slowly learning that Malfoy is more likely to spill whatever is on his mind if you let him have the space to do so in his own time. He’s finally learning to speak Draco he thinks proudly.

“To be completely honest, I don’t think I can step foot in the Manor yet. Maybe not ever.” Draco says quietly. “I returned once and only once after the trials were over. It didn’t feel like the place I grew up any longer. The Dark Lord and his followers stained the grounds.” He finishes his drink and holds out his glass for another, watching as the amber liquid swirls around. “Besides, Mother is visiting a distant Aunt of Father’s in the south of France. She asked me to accompany her, I declined. Visiting my Father’s relatives, no matter how distant didn’t sound particularly appealing this year.”

“Well I’m glad you’re here,” Harry answers giving Draco a soft smile. As much as he had been looking forward to a week alone, he’s starting to think that a week with this new Malfoy he’d been getting to know sounds actually quite perfect. He feels closer to Draco right now than he does any of his other friends, Ron and Hermione included. They’re too much the same and yet so unalike. Harry feels like he has some sort of bond with Malfoy and he wonders whether it’s the life debts they owe each other or whether it’s the whole ‘sacrificial lamb’ thing they both had going on during the war. Pawns, Harry had thought of them both.

“No Weasel Christmas for you then?” Malfoy asks and Harry shrugs almost sloshing the drink from his glass. “I imagined you’d have a flood of invitations to Christmas dinner after your heroics.”

“Didn’t fancy spending Christmas with my ex,” Harry says, raising the glass to his lips and licking at the one drop that had settled on the rim. Malfoy’s eyes darken at the little flash of tongue and Harry does it again.

“No,” Malfoy sets his glass on the floor by his feet and plucks Harry’s from his fingers, dropping it down beside his own before leaning forward and licking at the seam of Harry’s lips. “I can imagine how that would be, unpleasant.” He whispers against Harry’s mouth before slipping his tongue inside and pressing him back into the soft cushions.

Harry moans when Malfoy swings a leg over his own and straddles his lap, their mouths still moving hotly against one another. Harry’s hands run up and down the supple length of Malfoy’s spine and he nearly swears when the motion causes Draco to arch his back like a cat, grinding his arse onto Harry’s lap as he moves. And _Merlin fuck_ kissing Malfoy turns him on more than anything ever has before, those luscious lips that are so often curled up in distaste now open and pliant for him to do whatever he wants to. He nips at Draco’s bottom lip and hisses when he jerks back. God every movement of Malfoy’s hips make him harder and he reaches a hand down to adjust himself because the last thing he wants is to strain his cock because it’s trapped in the wrong position.

Harry’s knuckles brush over Draco’s cotton-covered prick as he makes himself more comfortable and Malfoy breaks the kiss, leaning forward to bury his head in Harry’s throat. His breath is laboured already and it washes over Harry’s skin, setting off goosebumps that run up his arms and back of his neck. He does it again, this time purposefully cupping Draco and rubbing against him with the palm of his hand. His own prick jumps as the back of his hand drags across it and he suddenly has the urge to see Draco naked, all that alabaster skin on show, warmed and flushed in the heat of the fire. He pushes his hands under Malfoy’s jumper and pulls it up over his head. Draco sits upright again, bringing their cocks back in line with each other and Harry can’t stop trailing his eyes over the beautiful body before him.

Harry holds a hand out and Malfoy stiffens but doesn’t move. He looks like a rabbit caught and frozen in place. Harry knows why, Draco’s torso bares the mark of the curse Harry had hit him with back in sixth year. They’re faded and Snape obviously did an excellent job in healing them but the marks still remain: the eternal reminder of how stupid and irresponsible they had both been. Harry runs both his palms over the slightly raised skin and Malfoy shudders above him. He keeps his caresses light, not wanting to spook Draco.

“We aren’t those people anymore,” Harry whispers, leaning forward, wrapping his arms around Draco’s back and kissing over the top of one scar, across Draco’s chest to the very tip of the other. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know what it did and no matter what I would never have wanted to hurt you like that Draco. I was terrified I’d killed you.” Harry feels tears threatening to well up, he feels open and vulnerable and it’s frightening to feel that way in front of Malfoy of all people. Draco pulls back, looking down at Harry with some unreadable expression darkening his features. Harry spots it then, the Dark Mark stark and intimidating where it’s branded into Malfoy’s left arm. He knew it was there of course, Malfoy had showed him right after the battle. He’d hated the sight of it then, had wanted to curse it right off Malfoy’s skin but now, now Harry reaches out and grabs Malfoy’s wrist, turning it slowly and leaning over the blackened tattoo. Malfoy tries to pull away but Harry holds him tight, leans down, dipping his head and pressing a kiss to the palms of Malfoy’s hand. He works small, careful kisses slowly up Malfoy’s forearm until his lips make contact with the Mark. Draco’s hand clenches into a tight fist, causing the tendons to stand out sharply. Harry looks up and see’s that Draco is facing away from him, a look of disgust marring that beautiful face. Harry kisses all the way up, along the length of the Mark until his lips find the gentle curve of Draco’s elbow and he makes his way back down again.

Malfoy looks back at Harry, his expression unreadable as he draws his hand back to himself, holding it cautiously at his side as if he could hide the disfigurement from Harry’s eyes. They just look at each other for a moment before he carefully climbs off Harry’s lap, ignoring the hands that try and keep him close. Harry watches him stand. He’s fucked this up, he shouldn't've said anything, shouldn't've forced the Mark issue but he just wanted Malfoy to know that he doesn’t care about what he has on his skin or what happened to him during the war. Harry has his own scars from the very same war, he did things he wishes he’d never had to, just as Malfoy had.  

“Draco?” Harry protests, wanting to apologise for spoiling the mood by being an arse. But Draco shakes his head and closes his eyes, once more towering over Harry and making him feel small and ineffectual. Then Draco does something Harry doesn’t expect, he lowers himself to the hearth rug and reaches for the button on Harry’s jeans, pulling it open and sliding down the zip, revealing Harry’s dark grey boxers and the line of his fully hard prick.

The gasp that escapes Harry’s lips sounds loud in the empty common room but it’s nothing compared to the moan that follows when Malfoy’s hand dips into his jeans and rubs over the length of Harry’s prick.

“I’m going to go ahead and assume that you’ve never had your cock sucked, Potter?” Malfoy asks, running his hand up and over the head of Harry’s prick, with only his thin boxers between their flesh, the sensation is amazing and Harry grits his teeth to hold back the noises he desperately wants to make. He shakes his head, not trusting himself to speak. He knows there’s a wet patch colouring the fabric of his boxers already, he can feel the cool friction every time Draco’s hand swipes over it.

“Arse up then,” Draco says, dipping his fingers into the waistband of Harry’s jeans and tugging on them. Harry does as he’s told and watches Malfoy’s face as he pulls both jeans and boxers down over his knees and tugs them over Harry’s feet, discarding them in a neat pile beside the chair. Draco turns back and places his hands over Harry’s knees, digging his thumbs into the skin on either side before running them up his thighs, twirling his fingers in the thick dark hair that covers Harry’s skin. His prick is hard and twitches every time Malfoy’s hands run close to his groin and he knows his face is flame red from being so open and on display with his legs spread wide and Malfoy between his knees.

Draco leans forward, his breath ghosting over the apex of Harry’s thighs as he dips his head down and wraps those long fingers around Harry’s hips, tugging him gently in an attempt to bring him to the edge of the chair. Harry wonders a bit hysterically whether this slow build up of lightly dancing fingers and warm puffs of breath against his skin is supposed to be some form of torture. Back in the tunnel when he'd dropped to his knees and taken Malfoy into his mouth it had happened quickly, no long drawn out build-up. He can't stop looking at Malfoy's fingers as they roam over his skin or the way the flickering light of the flames in the hearth soften Draco’s light grey eyes and make them seem filled with warmth. His gaze flickers across Malfoy’s pretty pale skin now flushed with warmth, the way Draco’s tongue keeps popping out to wet his lips in anticipation or the twitching, dripping precome that keeps leaking from Harry’s own cock and falling into his thick patch of hair.

As if Harry’s gaze has brought it to his attention, Malfoy reaches out and wipes the droplet just ready to fall with his thumb, takes it into his mouth and laps his tongue around the digit with an appreciative hum. Harry has to resist the urge to tighten his thighs together and buck his hips up at the soft sensation of Malfoy’s thumb against the head of his cock. His eyes almost flutter shut at Draco’s little hum because Harry just wants it over with now, right fucking now before he loses it and ends up coming all over Malfoy's face without even being touched.

Harry groans and he knows by the smirk that spreads across Malfoy's face that it sounds desperate but it works. Draco's hand wraps around the middle of Harry's cock and gently draws his foreskin down, the soft velvety sheath giving way to his cockhead, shiny and wet with how much it's been leaking. Harry hasn't ever paid much attention to his own prick when he's been getting off before, he mainly works himself with his eyes closed imagining scenarios like this in his head. He looks now though, at how angry and pink his cock looks, at the stark contrast the colour makes between his skin and Malfoy’s pale colouring. All of a sudden the image of Draco's body spread out beside his flashes in his mind and he loses control of his lower body, hips thrusting up into Draco's hand, forcing his foreskin down even further.

“Malfoy,” Harry groans with his eyes closed. “I swear if you don't do something I'm gonna-”

“You're going to what, Potter?” Malfoy cuts him off with a sneer and stops any possible answer he might have given by wrapping his lips around the head of Harry’s prick and sucking lightly while running his tongue over the slit and licking the newest bead of precome off.

“Oh _shit_ ,” Harry exclaims, throwing his head back against the armchair and gripping the cushions with his fingers in an attempt to stop his body raising from the seat and pushing into Malfoy's throat. Harry’s whole body feels like it’s clenching, his muscles tighten and his every nerve feels shredded when Malfoy works his tongue underneath Harry’s foreskin. Malfoy’s lips edge further and further down Harry’s cock and he can feel the veins throbbing along the underside of his prick against Malfoy’s mouth. Harry can feel the tensing and releasing of the muscle behind his balls as he reaches a hand out to cup the back of Malfoy’s head. Draco catches it mid-flight and pins it to the arm of the chair with a squeeze and a soft pat that feels like praise when Harry keeps it there. Malfoy takes him all the way to the root then, placing his hands back on Harry’s hips and pressing his nose into the thick patch of hair at the base of his cock.

“Draco! Merlin fuck,” Harry groans, feeling himself brush against the back of Malfoy’s throat. He feels like he can’t breathe, the tight clenching of his stomach muscles causing him to curl in on himself and it makes his lungs hurt. Harry is almost on the verge of letting go and spilling into Malfoy’s mouth, he grits his teeth so hard his jaw begins to ache, fingers tighten on the fabric of the armchair in a desperate attempt to stave off the inevitable. He manages to hold off until one of Malfoy’s hands disappears between his legs and brushes over his arsehole once, then taps against his opening and with a muted shout Harry can’t hold on any longer. His hands fly to the back of Draco’s head as his cock starts to pulse, his release coming harder and faster than it ever has before. He can only hold on to pure white hair as he shudders and shakes and tears begin to leak from the corners of his eyes with the overwhelming sensation of coming in someone else’s mouth for the very first time.

Once the tremors have calmed and Harry stops whispering out “Draco, fuck Draco,” Malfoy withdraws, dragging the flat of his tongue over the tip of Harry’s cock as he goes and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looks down at Harry with a self-satisfied smirk across his face, betrayed only by the fire burning in those grey eyes and stands up before Harry even has a chance to say anything coherent, pulling his own erection out and fisting it furiously as he stands between Harry’s legs. If he wasn’t still rushing from such an intense orgasm; Harry knows he’d be hard as rock watching Malfoy fucking his hand with his head thrown back, his perfectly arched neck begging to be bitten. Harry quickly yanks his t-shirt up and pulls it off his body, throwing it to one side then leans back in the chair and runs his hands over his torso, brushing over his own nipples as Malfoy watches. He grins, a mischievous smirk as he watches Draco’s hand work even faster over him. He _wants_ Malfoy to come on him, wants to be covered in his come, knowing it’s him who’s managed to turn Draco on as much as this. He licks his lips and raises his hips as he tugs on one of his nipples and lets his eyes flutter half shut.

“C’mon Malfoy, do it,” Harry whispers and almost laughs when Malfoy finally fucking does as he’s told for the first time in the eight years they’ve known each other. His head falls forward and his teeth dig into his bottom lip as his hand stutters on his cock and then he’s coming all over Harry’s chest, his stomach and over his cock and it might just be the hottest thing Harry has ever seen. Malfoy towering over him almost naked, Malfoy with his cock in his hand, spilling his come all over Harry’s body. As Draco shivers above him and his stomach muscles roll with the aftershocks, Harry swipes two fingers into the come covering his stomach and slips them into his mouth, sucking the fluid off them as he watches Draco try to calm himself before dropping to his knees again and letting his head rest on Harry’s thigh.

“Thank you,” Harry finally manages as he runs the fingers of one hand through Malfoy’s hair. Draco allows the contact for another moment, until his breathing begins to sound somewhat normal and Harry feels warm and safe for the first time in months. That is, until Malfoy stands suddenly, pulling his trousers closed, casting a hasty cleaning charm over them both before reaching for his jumper and tucking it under his arm.

“Merry Christmas Potter,” Draco says stiffly before turning on his heels, heading to his bed and slamming the door behind him. Harry sits up then, shocked that Malfoy had walked off so abruptly and left him here, completely naked. He tugs his clothes on, suddenly feeling self conscious then heads to where Malfoy had just disappeared. He stands outside the door for a moment, hesitating before knocking.

“Malfoy what the fuck was that?” Harry says into the thick wood. He gets no answer. He knocks again, louder this time but still hears nothing. The door is warded and he realises Draco must’ve spelled it with a silencing charm so he wouldn’t have to listen to Harry calling him. Confused and a little hurt, Harry takes himself to his own bed, giving it the same treatment as Draco by spelling his door locked and silencing the room. He doesn’t fall asleep for a long time, his thoughts swirling around what could possibly have gone wrong. He wishes Isis were here with him, he misses her warmth but won’t unlock the door, she’ll have to find somewhere else to sleep tonight, he doesn’t want to face Draco again tonight.

In the hazy moments before sleep finally claims Harry a long time later, he finds himself drowsily wishing Hermione had stayed here for the holidays so he could, albeit awkwardly, ask what he might have done to cause Malfoy to walk out like that. Then again, as he imagines the horrified look on her face when he tells her it’s _Malfoy_ he realises that he’s rather glad neither her or Ron is here for the holidays.

** 

Christmas day for Harry is most definitely a muted affair, but then again, it’s exactly what he needed this year. He wakes to find a modest pile of presents waiting for him at the foot of the bed and gets to work unwrapping them as he works his way through the stash of chocolate frogs Ron had sent him. He forgoes the shower this morning, opting just to throw on a comfy pair of jeans and the newest jumper from Molly before heading off to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Isis meets him halfway there and he doesn’t think he’s ever been happier to see her. He lifts her from the floor as she tells him about spending the night in Hagrid’s hut, after she makes it abundantly clear how annoyed she is that he’d locked her out of the room for the night. Still, Harry knows that a night with Hagrid was probably quite fun for her.

There are only a handful of students scattered around the tables when he gets there and he ends up sitting by himself in one of the far corners reading the previous day’s Prophet. Draco is nowhere to be seen and Harry feels grateful for that. He doesn’t think he could sit here and not ask Malfoy what the hell happened to make him run off so quick if he were. He doesn’t see Draco at Christmas dinner, or in the common room that night and all of a sudden Harry finds himself feeling incredibly lonely and wishing he’d accepted the invitation to go to the Burrow. On boxing day morning, he firecalls Molly and asks her if he can join them for the rest of the holidays.

“Of course Harry dear, come on through and I’ll lay a plate out for you. Scrambled eggs on toast alright for you?” Molly asks and Harry feels a tender rush of affection for the closest thing he’s ever had to a mother before ending the call and heading off to find McGonagall to let her know his change of plans.


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I mentioned this before but Marooncamaro is a funny and wonderful sod whom I've grown extraordinarily fond of over the last half year. She dragged me kicking and screaming into the HP fandom which, I can't actually believe I wasn't already a part of! 
> 
> So thank you M for that and so many other things. 
> 
>  
> 
> And to Lost, who has pretty much dragged my arse into a tonne of other fandoms, I'm not thanking you for that Lost, you've ruined my life and I may not pick up another book again thanks to you! 
> 
> But you are an amazing Beta and I'll forever be thankful for you lending me your time!

 

The Burrow is a hive of activity, just like he had expected it to be. He sits wedged between Percy and George at the breakfast table and fills himself full of scrambled on toast and Molly’s perfectly brewed tea. It’s not even that weird to be spending time so close to Ginny. She’s found herself a boyfriend in her own year and seems to be much happier than she ever had been with Harry. Hermione throws him worried glances throughout the day and Ron nudges her every now and then with a quiet “Leave off, Mione. 

Molly sets him up in Percy’s old room just like old times. Really, it’s the only room he can sleep in what with George staying for another two days and Harry knows that George needs the space to himself. Harry isn’t the only one who’s heard his soft sobs when the rest of the house is quiet. Percy has his own flat to head back to on Boxing day night and a new girlfriend to visit the day after. Molly had spent the whole afternoon trying to cajole him into bringing her over for a visit but honestly, as much as he adores the Weasleys, he can completely understand why Percy might want to introduce her when the house is a little less full.

Harry is almost asleep when he hears his door creak open and jolts up in bed. Isis is already curled up down by his feet. He quickly grabs his wand and casts a lumos before searching around on the bedside table for his glasses.

“Harry?” Hermione whispers. “Are you decent?”

“Sure Mione,” Harry sighs, pulling the sheets a little further up his chest and feeling resigned to the emotional grilling he’s about to get. “Ron asleep?”

“I’m surprised you can’t hear him snoring even from down here,” she chuckles, nudging him over and laying down beside him. He pulls a blanket over and settles back, staring up at the ceiling with his arms crossed over his chest. She mirrors the position and it suddenly feels so familiar from all those nights sharing sleeping space during their time camping around the country after Ron had left. “Do you want to talk about it?” She asks quietly and he knows she won’t push if he says no. She’ll just lie close to him until he falls asleep and then head back up to Ron.

“I don’t know if I can tell you all of it,” Harry starts with a long exhale, she turns her head to look at him, no doubt trying to read what he’s not saying in his face. “There might be _someone_ I like…..but I’m not sure what I’m doing, I’m pretty sure I messed it up somehow and honestly Mione, I’m not sure what I did wrong.” She’s quiet for a long time only reaching out to lay a comforting hand over one of his across his chest.

“I can’t tell you what you did wrong Harry,” She says finally. “Or if you did anything wrong at all unless you tell me what happened, which I’m not expecting you to- don’t worry,” She adds hastily. “But I think that if you really do like this person then you should tell them, I mean, look how horrible and confusing it was when Ron and I, well, you remember what that was like. Cormac, Krum and you know,” She hesitates, not wanting to say Lavender’s name out loud, especially not in that context. Hermione curls around him and he pats her hand gently, but Harry can’t help worry that Malfoy might only have started things with Harry as some form of repayment for Harry’s help after the war. He’s worried that  if he goes back and confronts Malfoy about it, he’ll get sneered at. Harry can imagine the scathing tone Malfoy would use to tell him that it was nothing, that Malfoy had paid some sort of imagined debt and they could go back to ignoring each other again. Harry’s heart beats wildly in his chest with anger at the thought, the imagined scenarios circling round and round in his head and it’s only when Hermione nudges him that he realises his fingers are tightly twisted in the sheets.

“Harry, you’re making static,” Hermione says wearily as she reaches up and starts smoothing her hair down from where it had begun to stand on end. She looks a little like she’s been struck through with an electric current. It’s not the first time she’s been caught in the effect of Harry’s magic when his emotions have run wild. She sighs heavily and Harry quickly tries to calm his breathing, reciting the names of this years’ Harpy’s team to give him something else to focus on. His hands begin to slowly unclench around the sheets about the time he starts listing the chasers on the second team and Isis comes to lay across his stomach as he flexes his palms out. He runs an absent hand over her scales, feeling the calm spread over him almost instantly and Hermione turns on her side to face him with a soft, sad smile he can just about see in the wandlight. She runs her palm over Isis’ tail and Harry thinks, not for the first time, that he’s so lucky to have her and Ron by his side. It doesn’t matter that the three of them have spent more time apart than together lately, or that Harry still seems to have some sort of emotional constipation going on. Harry knows that Ron and Hermione will always be there for him when he needs them.

 **

They floo back to the castle the day before term starts again and the common room is filled with excited chatter and people cheerily showing off their Christmas gifts to one another. The noise is a comforting hum and Harry, Ron and Hermione settle into one of the sofas by the window with Isis on Ron’s lap waving her tail back and forth in front of Crookshanks to tempt him into playing. When Harry spots Malfoy walking through the doors flanked by Pansy and Blaise, he tries not to stare but he can’t help watching him as they settle down across the otherside of the room and put their heads together, talking in tones so low that not even those sitting close by could hear what they’re saying.

“Mate, you’re staring at Malfoy again,” Ron says around the mouthful of Christmas pudding he’d brought with him from the Burrow. Hermione snaps her head up from her book to first look over in Draco’s direction, then quirks an eyebrow up at Harry. He shakes his head at her. “Don’t tell me, you think he’s up to something right?” Ron adds with a grin and Harry laughs, hoping it will throw Ron off the scent. He’s not ready to have _that_ conversation with his best mate just yet. Harry feels a knot of anxiety and maybe a little bit of anger twisting up inside his chest every time his eyes stray over to Malfoy’s face, his gaze sweeping over Malfoy’s shoulders, catching for a second on his fingers. Harry stands suddenly, not sure he can sit here right now with his head whirring and his stomach twisting.  

“I’m going to get an early night,” Harry says after a moment of Ron looking up at him with knitted eyebrows. Harry stretches and feigns a yawn and when Ron throws him a worried look Harry adds, “I didn’t sleep well last night and I want to fall asleep before you start snoring in there. Night Mione,” he adds quickly, looking down at the ground and not looking at her because he’s pretty sure she’d figure him out with one glance. Harry hastily picks Isis up, supporting her around the middle with both hands and carries her to the bedroom.

 _“You’re sad again,”_ Isis says once they’re tucked up in bed with silencing charms firmly in place.

 _“I like him  but I don’t think it’ll ever work, there’s just too much bad stuff between us.”_ Harry tells her, stroking her head as she winds herself around his wrist.

 _“Find what you want Harry, then hunt it down and kill it,”_ She says quietly and Harry can’t help but laugh at how serious she sounds.

 _“I’m not sure killing him would help in my case, but I understand your meaning,”_ Harry chuckles, it’s pretty much the same advice as Hermione had given him really, he’s lucky to have them both. _“Thank you.”_ Tomorrow, he is going to find Malfoy and have it out with him. 

**

Harry doesn’t have to wait long to confront Malfoy after all. He wakes early like he usually does these days and walks sleepily into the bathroom for his morning shower with bare feet and a bare torso and his slightly too large bottoms hanging off his hips. He instantly knows it’s Malfoy under the water the moment he steps foot into the room. The entire place smells exactly how Draco’s skin had smelt that day in the tunnel, then again in front of the fire and it does nothing to help the fact that Harry had woken up hard, he has to fight to hold back a groan because his prick had only just begun to go down on his way in here. He hesitates outside the shower, watching the steam swirl in intricate patterns up and over the opaque door then with a deep breath gathers his nerves and leans against the wall to one side of the door.

“Malfoy?” Harry says, loud enough to be heard over the gentle roar of the water. His glasses begin to fog up from the steam and he casts a quiet ‘impervious’ on them to keep them clear. “Are we ever gonna talk about what the hell happened the other day or are you just gonna run away every time you see me now?” He crosses his arms over his chest feeling that hot lick of anger and the cold chill of hurt warring inside him. Harry’s wand is still gripped tightly in his right hand, lying flush against his bare arm, the wood digs into his skin a little bit where his muscles are pulled tight and tensed; ready for whatever Malfoy is about to throw at him.

“Potter, I don’t know what sort of rules the Weasleys live by but you should know, it’s considered rude to interrupt someone when they’re quite obviously _busy_.” Malfoy’s calls over the shower. Harry can almost taste the disdain in Draco’s voice but he’s not going to be frightened off that easily. He squares his shoulders and sticks his jaw out even though Malfoy can’t see him through the door.

“I don’t know what sort of rules you Slytherins go by but I for one consider it pretty fucking rude to give someone a bloody amazing blow job and leave them naked while you run off and hide.” Harry manages to suppress the ‘you little prick,’ that he so desperately wants to add and he just about stops himself from wincing at accidentally letting slip how much he’d enjoyed it. It was all ammunition for Malfoy after all, if this didn’t go well Malfoy would probably use it against him for the rest of the school year.

“Did I do something wrong? Because I told you I hadn’t ever done, y-you know, before,” Harry stammers, feeling altogether less confident now and more than a bit stupid for letting his mouth run away with him. He needs to shut up right now but he can’t seem to stop. “All I know is that I fucking want you Malfoy, even when you’re still being a complete prick and if you don’t want me then just fucking tell me alright? We’ll forget it ever happened.”

The door opens suddenly, Malfoy’s hand shoots out and grabs Harry’s upper arm, yanking him into the shower and spelling the door shut behind him. Draco is naked, dripping wet, pink flushed all over and did he mention completely fucking _naked_ and Harry just wants to touch every inch of skin. Little drops of water cling onto Malfoy’s long, golden eyelashes and his hair, cut short at the sides and long on top. It looks good as it falls dripping across Malfoy’s forehead almost obscuring one of his penetrating grey eyes as he scowls at Harry from no more than three inches away. Malfoy’s hand is pressing hard against Harry’s chest and he can feel the heat seeping into his skin, drops of water stream down his chest and soaking into the waistband of his pajama bottoms. Malfoy steps closer and Harry’s face suddenly burns red hot because Draco is _hard_ and Harry realises quickly just what Malfoy had meant when he’d said he was _‘busy’_.

“I meant it Malfoy, if you’re not interested I’d rather know. Maybe I’ll take your suggestion and ask Seamus,” Harry swallows heavily. He knows it’s a low blow but he’s fucking confused and Malfoy is just standing there looking like some sort of male Aphrodite with his beautiful skin, blonde hair and bloody fierce eyes. Malfoy’s eyes narrow and Harry seriously begins to think that he’s about to come under fire from some sort of hex when Malfoy growls low in his throat and his lip curls enough to bare a flash of perfectly white teeth.

“Of course I fucking want you, you simpleton.” Draco says with venom and Harry’s brows pull even closer together, his mouth tightening into a thin line and his jaw working as he grinds his teeth. “Didn’t I already tell you how bloody long I’d been thinking about this?” Malfoy asks digging his nails into Harry’s chest and making Harry’s eyes widen with the sharp sting of it.

“I don’t understand.” Harry says, more than confused now. He drops his wand to the floor without even looking where it lands, reaches his hands out and slides them onto Malfoy’s hips, pulling them closer until he can _feel_ Draco’s cock brush against his bare skin just above his pajama bottoms. His own prick swells rapidly, racing to catch up with Draco and the rush of it leaves Harry feeling lightheaded and slightly breathless.

“Haven’t you considered what they’ll all say?” Malfoy says, his voice barely a step down from a snarl. “Harry bloody Potter, our saviour, the Boy who Lived. . .  shagging Death Eater scum? A bloody _Malfoy_ ? They’ll hex me in the goddamn street Potter! They’ll have my blood for despoiling the Boy Who fucking Lived, don’t you realize that?” Malfoy spits out angrily, as if Harry should have thought about this before now. He had, sort of, but not too much; just enough to know that he couldn’t give a toss. It’s not like it wouldn’t be the first time the _Prophet_ had run hate campaigns against him; called him crazy, delusional even. At least this time it would be for something he had actually done, something that makes him fucking happy and not for something he wasn’t even old enough to remember. “They’ll say I corrupted you, violated you, Merlin’s beard Potter they’ll probably say I fucking Imperiused you!”

“I don’t care. We don’t have to tell them,” Harry says as he starts to run one hand up and down the knobs of Draco’s spine. God, watching him shiver at the slightest touch makes Harry feel like he’s going mad. He leans in and Draco’s eyelids flutter, almost shutting fully. Harry pushes forward, presses his lips against Malfoy’s and let’s a long sigh out against Malfoy’s mouth. “And if they find out, I’ll tell them. I’ll tell them that I wanted this, that I want you,” Harry whispers against Malfoy’s lips. Draco kisses him back all of a sudden, forcing Harry’s head back against the wall and pinning him there. Even though Harry was desperately willing Malfoy to kiss him, it still takes him by surprise when Malfoy rolls his hips so that Harry can feel the drag of their cocks together. Draco’s wet hands move move down Harry’s chest, his fingers slip underneath Harry’s bottoms and force them down roughly with a scrape of nails against Harry’s skin and it’s so sudden and harsh that makes his hips buck forward and his teeth clamp down on Malfoy’s lip.

Draco pulls back slightly, lifting a hand to his mouth and wiping a droplet of blood off his lip with the back of his hand looking a little bit shocked at the scarlet bead. His tongue swipes over the cut and Harry grips Malfoy’s hips even harder and pulls him back in, reaching in front to take them both in hand. Harry runs his palm along both their cocks at the same time while grinning at Malfoy in a challenge. Harry looks down, watching his hand as it moves over both of them, looking at the way Maloy’s light pink prick looks against his own darker skin as the friction causes their foreskins to retract with every downward stroke. Draco’s lips capture his again and he bites back in retaliation. Harry gasps but doesn’t pull back, just grabs hold of the lush muscle of Draco’s arse as it undulates under his palm.

“Let me fuck you,” Draco moans against Harry’s mouth and Harry feels a jolt of panic rush through him. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. Just a minute ago Harry was gearing up to be hexed and now Malfoy is asking to….to have sex? Harry’s lips freeze, his fingers don’t move on Malfoy’s skin and he’s not even sure whether he’s still breathing as his mind races to catch up. He’d loved the feeling of Malfoy’s fingers brushing and tapping against his arse as he’d tongued Harry’s cock but Harry hasn’t ever even played with himself like that before. Draco must have sensed Harry’s hesitation, the way his hand stalled between them because he tilts his head and starts kissing and sucking along Harry’s jawline, whispering against his skin. “I’ll make it good, work you open and stretch you so that it’ll feel amazing when I’m inside you.”

Harry’s skin burns and he can actually _feel_ his arse pulsing in time with his cock as Malfoy speaks to him and his hands roam over Harry’s chest, rubbing over his nipples and around the sensitive skin across his ribs. Draco shoves against him harder, pinning him further into the wall and Harry almost trips on his pajamas where they’re still pooled around his ankles before flicking them off with a few undignified moves because his legs feel as though Malfoy has cast the Jelly-legs jinx on them.

“Please Harry, let me?” Draco whispers again before kissing him so hard he can hardly breathe. Malfoy’s tongue devours Harry’s mouth, leaving him no room to answer. Harry isn’t even sure he could even string together a coherent sentence right now because his brain is still stuck on Malfoy calling him _Harry._ Malfoy had said it in such a desperate way like he really _does_ want Harry, like he’d wanted Harry all this time and the only thing holding him back had been what other people would think. Draco’s fingers work magic across Harry’s skin as they move from one point to another and fuck Harry had no idea there were so many places on his body that could feel this fucking sexual.

“Yes,” Harry manages to groan when Draco finally gives him a moment to respond and as soon as the word is out Malfoy has him by the hips and is spinning him round with a long drawn out groan. Malfoy’s pulling Harry so that his back is arched and his arse sticking out. Harry braces his hands against the wall and his head drops down between his shoulders. His back tenses, on edge and wondering what is about to come next. Harry can feel his arse clenching along with his thighs. He’s nervous, fuck, he’s _really_ fucking nervous because this really is about to happen. Draco Malfoy, his boyhood nemesis is about to fuck him in the school showers while all their friends sleep soundly in rooms either side.

“Relax Potter,” Malfoy whispers against the skin of Harry’s arse before his hands start to massage his cheeks, prying them apart before pushing them back together again in a rolling motion. Harry can feel it tugging at his entrance, slowly manipulating the muscle and coaxing it to relax. One hand leaves him and he can feel Malfoy tilt to one side, reaching for Harry’s wand. Harry hears Malfoy cast a quick silencing charm and he turns towards the sound. Before he can look back over his shoulder however, Draco is back and whispers a spell that Harry doesn’t hear but he sure as hell feels. A tingling wash of cold jolts him onto the balls of his feet and makes his cock pulse so hard that he can _see_ a large drop of precome fall from the tip and onto the already, wet tiled floor.

“Fuck, what was _that_?” Harry gasps out and Malfoy chuckles, so close behind him he can feel the stuttered puff of breath over his still tingling hole.

“Handy little cleaning charm Blaise taught me, and no Potter, before you ask him and I haven’t ever fucked. _Ever,”_ Malfoy says forcefully. “Impervious,” Malfoy says, pointing Harry’s wand at the shower head over his shoulder to redirect the spray of the water before dropping Harry’s wand and pressing his face into the crack of his arse, licking over Harry’s balls and right up across his hole.

“Shit, Malfoy w-what are you…?” Harry stammers out as Draco’s tongue prods against his arsehole, gently pressing against it as if to dip inside. Malfoy laps at the sensitive ring again with the flat of his tongue before pressing open mouthed kisses to first one cheek then the other, his palms still spreading Harry open.

“It’s called rimming Potter,” Malfoy says in a tone so much lower than his everyday speaking voice that it causes a shiver to run up Harry’s spine, he can feel Malfoy’s hot breath against him and the soft vibrations along his skin with every word Malfoy says. “It’s how I’m going to loosen you up. Any objections?” He asks, this time almost businesslike and Harry’s not an idiot so he nods and grunts his assent as Malfoy dives back in, pressing against his hole with his tongue so insistently that Harry feels it all over his body. He’s sweating, whether from the hot steam still pouring from the shower behind them or the sensation of Draco’s tongue breaching him. He’s not sure but Harry can feel the beads forming across his shoulders and running down his back.

Harry jolts in surprise again when one of Malfoy’s fingers joins his tongue; pressing inside, twisting and turning, dancing around the strong wet muscle as they work in tandem to open Harry up. Harry moans, a sound he never expected himself to make, long, low and needy and he feels Draco’s answering groan against his skin. The tongue disappears and Harry almost keens at its loss before a second finger joins the first and he hisses. It burns, the tight muscles stretching out as his body tries to resist, tries to close the opening that Malfoy’s spreading fingers are coaxing wider and wider with every twist. They push in and slowly drag back out again, moving as they go. Harry can feel it when Draco’s knuckles enter him, pressing insistently to force their way inside and he tries to control the sharp pain by breathing slowly in and out. Draco’s free hand snakes around and finds Harry’s cock which has lost some of its enthusiasm and is now only half hard between his legs. Malfoy squeezes him and he can feel the blood rapidly flowing back in and filling him up in Draco’s grip. The long, pale fingers wrapped around Harry’s prick move up and down, dragging Harry’s foreskin up and over the head of his cock before exposing it to the thick air again. It does the trick because as soon as he’s fully hard once more the discomfort from Malfoy’s fingers buried deep in his arse isn’t quite as bad as it was and he feels ready for more.

“You can do it,” Harry gasps on a well timed twist of fingers and a lovely tight tug on his cock. His head drops and falls onto the tile with enough force that Harry wonders whether he’ll walk away from this with a bruise right in the center of his forehead.

“Merlin,” Draco says breathlessly and so fucking desperate that Harry doesn’t think he’d be able to even say no. “Are you sure?”

“Fuck! Yes, yes Malfoy I’m fucking sure,” Harry begs, he fucking _begs_ and the fingers leave him suddenly. Harry is open and empty, his hole clenches around nothing, as it quickly tries to tighten back up again. Malfoy reaches back behind him and whispers a hurried ‘accio’ and a moment later Harry hears the stopper being yanked from an unknown phial. Slippery, slick wetness spreads over his hole, it’s smoothed along his crease, tangled into the hairs covering his arse and dipped inside by Malfoy’s fingers again and this time feels much easier than before. The digits slide in and out of him with less resistance and he can feel the puckered skin growing softer and giving more room for Malfoy to reach further in and...

“Oh fuck!” Harry yells bucking forward and feeling suddenly like he might come far too quickly. His fingers try to grip onto a solid surface and flounder when they can't get any purchase.

“You're ready, Merlin fuck Potter, so fucking ready,” Malfoy babbles under his breath in what Harry can only describe as a fervent plea as he lines himself up and puts pressure on the ring of muscles. Harry tries not to tense as the thick head of Draco's cock presses just inside and pauses. He breaths out steadily, hoping it'll keep him relaxed but it slips out like a whine and Malfoy groans so loud the sound pushes him even closer to the edge. Harry’s cock is _dripping_ between his legs now, a string of precome still attached hangs between his thighs as his prick bobs with every pulse.

“Draco, please I don't think I can, fuck,” Harry begs, feeling on the edge of coming already as Malfoy pushes in further inch by incredible inch, stretching him wider and filling him up. Harry never imagined being fucked could feel like this, so overwhelming that he can't even feel his toes where they're curled against the floor. His bottom lip is numb too and he can feel his balls pulled tight and taut, his cock feels thicker and harder than it’s ever been, even when he had Malfoy’s lips wrapped around him. His foreskin is fully retracted now and he knows that if he even brushes against his prick with one finger he’ll lose himself and come without warning.

Draco's hands are on his hips holding him still and he's panting hard and fast at Harry's back, head dipped and fingers pressing in then relaxing, again and again and Harry knows Draco is just as close as he is.

“This, this is going to be quick,” Malfoy rasps. Harry can tell Draco is clenching his teeth and wishes he could see him. He turns his head to look back over his shoulder at the exact same moment Draco pushes forward, sliding into him slowly but forcefully and Harry’s head drops back down again as he feels himself stretching further; hugging the thick shaft of Malfoy’s cock until it comes to a halt and he can feel Draco’s hips pressing against his arse. He can feel Malfoy’s balls against his own and concentrates on the soft fuzzy texture of them instead of how tight it feels to have a cock inside him.

When Draco finally moves, when he starts to pull back Harry can feel the rim of his arsehole trying to keep Malfoy inside and he almost clenches at the feeling. But then Malfoy is _really_ moving, pulling out and pushing back in with little grunts and pressing against that little something inside him that sets off an uncontrollable tremor throughout his muscles. Every time Malfoy presses against that one spot Harry’s cock jumps so hard he can feel it pulling his balls up and he grips the base of his prick with one hand, the other pressing hard into the tiles as Draco speeds up.

“Potter,” Malfoy moans, leaning over Harry’s back and grabbing his shoulder with one hand. Sharp nails dig into Harry’s skin as Draco’s fingers bite into the muscle and Harry can feel the lean muscles of Malfoy’s torso and the buds of hardened pink nipples against his back. Malfoy speeds up, skin slapping so loud it seems to echo through the bathroom and Harry just can’t hold on any longer he releases the strangling grip he has on his own cock and starts to wank himself in time to Draco’s thrusts. His thoughts are consumed with the sensations running through his spine and prickling the back of his neck and he can hear himself gasping and grunting with every thrust Malfoy makes into Harry’s body.

“Draco,” Harry whines, trying to warn Malfoy that he’s on the edge but he can’t make his numb lips form any more words than Draco’s name.

“Potter,” Draco counters, fucking Harry even harder, fingers digging into his skin so deep now that Harry grimaces.

“Malfoy, _fuck Malfoy,”_  Harry cries out as he loses control completely and starts to come. The pressure of his orgasm almost hurts as it takes over his lower body, ab muscles clenching and thighs trembling out of control. His arse tightens around Draco’s cock so hard it feels like that first moment he had been breached, his head spins as he feels the tell tale rush of his magic thrumming through his veins and the tile underneath his palm cracks right down the center, splitting like a spiderweb with a flash of green fire. He hears Malfoy gasp behind him which then turns into a filthy grunt as Malfoy moves the hand on Harry’s shoulder back to his waist, tugging Harry’s arse back so it presses against Draco’s hips and with a single shudder Harry feel’s Malfoy emptying into him. They both groan at the feeling, Malfoy’s starting off loud and guttural, progressing to a low whimper as his body begins to judder and his fingers start to loosen their grip on Harry’s skin.

Draco’s arms wrap around Harry, settling just underneath his navel and he fans over Harry’s back, holding him and panting against his skin. Harry feels Malfoy’s lips against the sweat coated flesh of his back and can feel the thumping beat of Malfoy’s heart against his spine. Harry shifts, his legs threatening to give way underneath him and Draco pulls back, gently slipping out of Harry while running his hands lightly over Harry’s arse with a touch so tender it sends another wave of tremors through Harry’s body. As soon as Draco steps away from him Harry turns around and slides down onto the tiled floor, breathing heavily and bracing his back against the wall. He’s an absolute mess, his face is hot, it’s probably bright red and beads of sweat drip down Harry’s cheeks, over his shoulders and down his back. His chest is flushed, two of his fingernails have split from the pressure of digging them into the tiles and Harry can still feel his magic flowing unrestrained through this body. He looks up and finds that Malfoy doesn’t look much better. His hair has fallen across his face and blonde strands are stuck to his forehead. Malfoy’s eyes look wide and wild and his face, neck and chest is a pretty shade of shocking pink. Malfoy’s cock, softening and spent looks red and swollen still and Harry can see his muscles shaking as he steps backwards, reaches for his own wand from amongst the bottles of shampoo and with a quick Finite aimed at the shower, he lets the water run over his body.

“Fucking hell Malfoy,” Harry breathes, watching the water pour over Malfoy as he runs his hands through his hair, pushing it back and away from his face. Harry suddenly can’t escape the realisation that Draco is beautiful, long, pale and perfect and Harry’s not sure he can tear his eyes away from the sight of him.

“Precisely,” Malfoy says, opening his eyes and grinning down at Harry lazily. His gaze flickers to a point above Harry’s head and his grin widens. “I’m not sure how we’re going to explain _that,”_ He nods to the broken tile, shattered by Harry’s wild magic. Harry looks up and grimaces again, hoping that he won’t always lose control like that around Malfoy because they’re sure as hell going to do that again. Harry watches from his position on the floor as Draco spreads soap suds over his lower body, rinsing after and reaching for a towel. “Shower is all yours Potter,” He says, tugging the door open and making to step out. Harry holds a hand out to stop him, grabbing hold of his thigh before pushing himself to standing and putting his body in Malfoy’s way.

“You’re not running again are you Malfoy?” Harry asks, frowning. Draco’s gaze softens minutely and he runs a hand over Harry’s forehead, pushing his mussed up hair back and revealing the infamous scar.

“Not running, no. However we _do_ have classes to attend.” Malfoy says haughtily but his gaze is as close to fond as Harry as ever seen it as his eyes run over Harry’s face. Draco leans in then, captures Harry’s lips in a soft, almost tender kiss before stepping out into the bathroom and heading back to the dorms leaving Harry to shower alone.

Harry washes quickly, taking great pleasure in using Malfoy’s soap and shampoo. He realises, when he finally turns the water off that he hadn’t brought his own towel in with him so he resorts to casting a drying charm over himself and his soaking wet pajama bottoms, pulling them on over his still slightly damp skin before collecting up Draco’s products and heading back to get dressed for the day.

Harry stops short when he steps into the open bathroom and is met by Blaise, leaning against the sink with his long legs crossed one over the other at the ankle and a sly grin plastered to his face. Zabini’s eyebrow quirks up and Harry has the obscure thought that he must pluck them to make them look that perfect- no one is born with eyebrows _that_ good.

“Potter,” Zabini greets him, his grin getting impossibly wider. Harry’s face flushes rapidly.

“Blaise,” Harry counters, trying for nonchalant. He offers a short nod before turning away to make a hasty retreat.

“Want me to give those to Draco for you?” Blaise asks just as Harry reaches out for the door handle. Harry turns and Zabini looks pointedly at the products in his hand. Harry’s not sure it’s even possible for him to blush any harder but his face burns like he’s sat too close to dragon fire as he hands over Malfoy’s stuff and slinks off to get dressed.

**

“Eighth year is _hard_ ,” Ron groans, throwing himself down on the floor at Hermione’s feet where she’s tucked under a thick blanket on the sofa with Luna curled up beside her. “I think I’d rather still be hunting Horcruxes,” He huffs and shoves a cauldron cake into his mouth whole.

“Speak for yourself mate,” Harry nudges him with his foot, grinning a little at how Ron’s cheeks puff out like a the hamster his year 5 teacher had kept as a class pet. “I don’t think I could go back to Mione’s cooking again.” Harry says, grinning over at Hermione who throws him an exasperated look. “No offense,” He adds.

They’re all exhausted, almost every single one of them has deep dark circles underneath their eyes from late nights studying and early morning cramming sessions. The only one of them who doesn’t seem to be affected by the endless stacks of homework they’ve been getting set is Luna who still looks as bright and fresh as she had the first day of term, but then she doesn’t have N.E.W.T’s to deal with yet does she? Neville sits at her feet with a herbology book in his hands, Dean and Seamus; the most surprising couple to have hooked up during eighth year, are sprawled side by side on the floor with Seamus twirling his wand above their heads making soft, colourful sparks rain down on them both. Harry looks around at his friends with a warm smile. It feels like the first time in two weeks that they’ve all been this relaxed, despite their exhaustion.

That’s how long it’s been since he cornered Malfoy in the bathroom. They’d done nothing else together except share heated glances across the common room and in corridors as they pass each other on the way to and from class. Harry thinks he might be going a little bit crazy. Every night he slumps down on his bed, so tired he barely manages to peel his clothes off before sliding under the covers and curling up to Isis who whispers to him as he falls asleep. Yet every night he wakes hard and desperate to feel Malfoy’s skin beneath his fingers, writhing and wanting to come with Draco inside him. When he does wake and Isis has left him in bed alone, he doesn’t even hesitate before taking himself in hand and wanking to fantasies of everything he wants to do to and with Malfoy. He always comes hard and fast and slips into a sleep much deeper than before.

Harry realises he’s been daydreaming when Ron throws a sugar quill at him and it bounces off the side of his head and ricochets into Neville’s lap. He immediately blushes. Thinking of Malfoy’s prick when his best friends are mere feet away is dangerous territory. Hermione gives him a look and he is sure she knows who he’d been talking about back at the Burrow at Christmas time but she hasn’t mentioned it again. She knows he’ll tell her when he’s ready and not before.

“Quidditch mate,” Ron says pointedly. “Sunday, you up for it?”

“Sounds good, yeah,” Harry says, they haven’t been out flying since his week at the Burrow where they’d all flown around the orchard for less than twenty minutes when the heavens had opened and soaked them all in freezing rain before they gave up and trudged back inside for Molly’s famous hot chocolate.

“Hey Ferret!” Ron shouts and Harry turns round to see Malfoy, Pansy, Blaise and surprisingly Parvati making their way into the room looking just as tired as the rest of them. “Quidditch, Sunday, be on the pitch for ten yeah?” Ron adds as they walk over. Blaise and Parvati head over to the love seat underneath the window and start making out, vigorously. Luna looks at them like they are the cutest thing she’s ever seen as Pansy squeezes into the tiny space beside her, Neville blushes bright red and Hermione makes a scoffing noise echoed by Malfoy who walks right up to Harry, much to his surprise and shoves his bare foot with one expensive shoe.

“Move up Potter, you’re blocking all the heat.” Draco says, towering over Harry and looking down his nose at him. Harry moves, giving Malfoy enough room to sit beside him on the loveseat and stares at the side of Malfoy’s face as he settles into the cushions. Sharp aristocratic nose, long eyelashes and pretty amazing cheekbones all coated in beautiful shades of white and gold. God he’s beautiful. Harry’s been dreaming of Malfoy for too bloody long now and he can’t help but touch now that he’s so close. Harry spreads his legs, pressing his thigh against Malfoy’s and notices when Draco’s lip twitches at the corner like he’s trying hard to suppress a smile.

“Get a room you two,” Malfoy calls, turning to look over his shoulder at where Blaise is clearly making a valiant attempt at pushing his hand up and under Parvati's robes. Zabini throws two fingers his way and Malfoy sneers. “Some people have no shame,” He adds loudly then glances over at Pansy who is pretending not to have heard any of it. She’s peering over Neville’s shoulder and trying very hard to look interested in the book he’s reading but Harry can see her mouth twisted into a half scowl like she can’t help herself. Harry feels a sharp pang of regret for her. He’s not sure how he would feel if it were Malfoy sat over there getting off with someone else while Harry sat wanting him so badly.

“Ah, bit of a prude are we, Malfoy?” Ron teases and Hermione slaps him on the shoulder. “ What?” Ron grumbles at her and gets a scowl in response as he shoves another cake into his mouth and shrugs his shoulders.

“Absolutely not, _Weasel_ ,” Draco smiles and surreptitiously runs a hand along Harry’s thigh. Harry freezes, no one's watching them but this is the first time Malfoy has touched him since the bathroom and the first time in front of anyone else. “I’m just not overly keen on seeing Parvati's arse is all.”

“I guess you’d rather catch an eye full of Zabini’s arse instead hey?” Seamus calls from his position on the floor. The sparks have stopped and he’s tracing patterns with his wand across Dean’s arm instead now.

“Absolutely. However, I’m afraid I’ve already seen enough of it to last me a lifetime.” Draco laughs and everybody joins in. Obviously sensing they’re at the butt of the joke, the two love birds stand up and make their way into where Blaise and Malfoy sleep. “Well, I guess an early night is off the cards for me,” Malfoy says with a heavy sigh and a pointed roll of his ankle. “Never mind, I have a few books to return to the library anyhow.” He stands, stretching his lithe body and throws a very pointed glare down at Harry while no one can see his face before waving his hand pretentiously at the group as a goodbye and heads out. Hermione is the first to stand and declare herself exhausted and heading for bed, most of the girls follow suit and Ron and Neville head to the bathroom to wash up for the night heckling Seamus and Dean who quite clearly have business of their own to attend to as soon as they’re alone. Harry stands too and when Ron asks him if he’s crashing he shakes his head shoving his hands into his jeans pockets and muttering some excuse about “going to look for Isis and _Don’t forget the silencing charm!”_

Harry walks quickly through the corridors, trying to catch up with Malfoy. There’s no way he’s actually returning books, he hadn’t even had one in his hand when he left and Harry can’t help but grin at the fact that no one in the common room even noticed. He passes a few empty classrooms and peers inside but finds no sign of Draco in any of them. Feeling frustrated he starts walking quicker, paying no mind to the loud sounds of his feet in the empty halls as he walks. Eighth year students are allowed out of their common room for another hour and a half yet so there’s no chance of him getting in trouble for being out of bounds.

“Potter,” Draco’s voice reaches him from a crack in a doorway to his left and Harry pushes the door open and steps inside. Malfoy is sitting perched on an empty desk, his long legs dangling off the edge as he leans back, bracing his palms behind him. His white shirt hangs open to his navel and his sleeves are rolled up past the elbows. Malfoy lifts one hand and flicks his wand leisurely at the door, locking it with a resounding click that echos through the empty room and then twirls the wand through his fingers like a baton. Arrogant, Harry thinks to himself, arrogant and so fucking sexy. Harry walks over slowly and watches as Draco’s eyes darken with every step closer he takes until he’s positioned between Malfoy’s now spread knees, looking down on him for once.

“We’re going to do things a little differently tonight,” Draco says as he rests back on his hands again, Harry thinks he sounds like a teacher at the start of class and then realises that a teacher is exactly what Malfoy is really. At least when it comes to them and sex and Harry thoroughly looks forward to his classes.

“Okay,” Harry says, reaching out and sliding his hands over Malfoy’s hips then bending down and pressing his lips to Draco’s long, lengthened neck. He drags his tongue lightly over the soft skin just underneath Malfoy’s jaw, trailing up and just brushing against the bottom of his earlobe before pulling back to look at Draco’s face. His eyes are closed, bottom lip captured between his teeth and Harry can see the quickened rise and fall of his chest. Harry grins, completely turned on and a little proud to be the one to have this effect on Draco even though he’s the one who’s inexperienced and learning.

“So, how’s it gonna go then?” Malfoy’s eyes open and Harry swears his usually pale grey irises are darker.

Draco pushes himself upright and slowly starts undoing the remaining buttons on his shirt before Harry bats his hands away and pops one after the other open. Harry tugs at the fabric, untucking it from Malfoy’s trousers and pushes it back off his shoulders, then dipping down to run his palms over the scarred skin of Malfoy’s chest as Malfoy pulls his crisp white shirt the rest of the way off and leans back again.

“I’ve decided,” Malfoy says as Harry’s hands curl around his hips again, Harry’s fingertips wrap around Draco’s sides and thumbs brushing lightly over his nipples. “You’re going to fuck me tonight.” Malfoy adds with a hitch in his breath when Harry scrapes a nail over one of the nubs.

“Yeah?” Harry whispers, flicking his gaze to Malfoy’s face and he steps in closer, enough so that his hips put pressure of Draco’s thighs and force him to spread them wider. Harry can feel Malfoy hard beneath him and shifts slightly to one side so that his own hard prick presses down on Draco’s. They both gasp audibly at the feel of the friction between them and Harry drops his head and captures Malfoy’s mouth in a kiss that’s part heat, part desperation. The idea of him being inside Draco keeps flowing through him like a current. He never imagined that it would be someone like Malfoy to take his virginity the way he had, it somehow seems fitting that Harry has this with Draco too. He lets Malfoy push him backwards just enough to get his hands on Harry’s t-shirt and pull it up over his head, discarding it on the floor beside them both. Draco works on Harry’s jeans next, popping the button and dragging the zip down, slipping his hands under the wide elastic of Harry’s boxers and sliding them around Harry’s hips. Draco’s fingers on his skin feel tender and sweet but they somehow make him feel as though he’s burning. Harry shifts forwards again, wanting to feel that earlier friction, his jeans fall from his hips and pool around Harry’s ankles when he moves and he throws Draco a grin that, combined with the flush of heat across his cheeks, must look sheepish.

Harry quickly kicks his worn trainers off with a shrug and manages to deftly get rid of his jeans at the same time. He stands in front of Malfoy now, wearing nothing but his glasses and tight, bright blue boxers which struggle to contain his already straining cock. It presses against the elastic band sitting across Harry’s hips and he’s tempted just to pull them down but before he can Draco’s hands move around to rub against where the head of Harry’s prick tents the fabric and rubs across it gently. Harry’s eyes shut and he leans into the touch, laying his hands on the desk either side of Malfoy’s arse and just focuses on the feel of a warm hand on him. Harry’s thigh muscles jerk when the grip tightens and Malfoy’s fingers try to wrap around him despite the fact that there’s a layer of cotton getting in the way. Harry looks up to find Draco wearing a thoughtful face, feeling the weight of him like he’s calculating what he wants to do next.

“What are you thinking?” Harry can’t help but ask and his voice comes out rough like he’s been asleep or he hasn’t spoken in days. It surprises him just how turned on he is already and he idly wonders if that’s normal. He decides he doesn’t care, Malfoy’s hands  feel too good, his body too beautiful and the way he uses his arrogant snark to tell Harry what to do is enough of a reason. He realises then that Malfoy’s voice turns him on as much as kissing him does. Harry thinks back to the bathroom and remembers how much faster Draco had fucked him each time he’d said ‘Potter’ and how frantic he’d become when Harry had countered with ‘Malfoy’, he almost chuckles. All those years of throwing insults at each other turned out to be just a long, drawn out exercise in foreplay for them both.

“I’m wondering whether I’ll need two or three of your fingers to open me up,” Malfoy explains and god just the thought of fingering Draco has Harry wanting to do it right now. His blood rushes through his body so fast he can almost feel it running through his veins and he can absolutely feel it throbbing through his prick and making his balls ache with the need to be inside Malfoy.

“God Draco, where did you learn all this?” Harry asks without thinking. He gets a raised eyebrow and pursed lips in response before he can take it back.

“Just because you spent the entirety of your academic years with your head up your arse, or your wand where it didn’t belong instead of learning how to enjoy yourself, does _not_ mean the rest of us didn’t grab the chance to learn what our dicks are for.” Malfoy grins at him and Harry laughs pressing forward and kissing that smug mouth, pushing his tongue in a little harder than really necessary. Harry grips Malfoy’s hips hard and drags him right to the edge of the desk sharply. Draco’s tongue strokes against his and his hands end up in Harry’s hair, tugging at the strands hard enough to make him wince. 

The kiss quickly turns more forceful, both of them worked up now into that fine line between fucking and fighting and this feels good. Malfoy moans into his mouth when Harry grinds against him and digs his fingernails into Harry’s skin and Harry does it again. He keeps up a continuous motion with his hips, grinding and rotating them; mirroring the movement with his tongue in Malfoy’s mouth. It’s only when Harry gets irritated with the feel of cotton and not skin against him that he pulls away, panting and pushes his boxers down to his feet. Harry’s fully hard, standing upright and curved towards his belly, the foreskin stretched tight, retracted and exposing the flushed, wet head of his cock. Malfoy eyes it hungrily and leans forward aiming to wrap his fingers around it but Harry pins his hand to the desk and shakes his head. He doesn’t want to get too close too quickly, he’ll get there quick enough when he sinks into Draco’s tight heat and Harry wants to enjoy more than a minute of it before it’s over. He wants to make it last.

“Take those off,” Harry tells Malfoy, nodding towards the expensive black trousers still maddeningly in place and looking perfect despite the fact that Harry’s basically been rutting against them for the last few minutes. Draco stands slowly, his body unfolding like a work of art as he moves, limbs controlled and precise, the subtle outline of muscles along his pale torso ripple and Harry really appreciates that while Draco may be slight and lean he’s also strong. The black fabric gives way to white skin and Harry will never get over how much he loves it, he thinks it’s become sort of a kink for him; all that porcelain flesh against dark fabric, like the moon on a cloudless night. _Beautiful_ . Then he realises that Draco isn’t wearing anything _under_ his trousers and _God_ just the idea of Malfoy walking around for hours with no underwear on, maybe even all day, makes his head feel lighter and sets off an odd tensing-tingle in his stomach. He wonders whether Draco had been bare underneath his robes when he’d sat a few rows in front of Harry in Charms earlier.

Before Harry can move to touch, Draco reaches back for his wand and with a flashing, evil grin he casts a trip jinx on Harry, sending him sprawling backwards with enough force to bruise, Harry just has time to throw his hands out and stop himself falling too hard as he hits the ground. He stares up at Malfoy’s smug grin and frowns, feeling a hot flash of anger rising up inside him, but instead of lashing out with words Harry reaches his wand hand out like a quick draw in an old western and throws up a wordless, wandless expelliarmus. Two can play that game, he thinks as Malfoy’s wand flies out of his grip and into Harry’s.

Harry had forgotten how the hawthorn wand had felt in his hand all those months ago and he stares at the weapon that had helped him vanquish the most dangerous wizard of their time, innocent and innocuous in his palm. He’d returned it to Draco as soon as the verdict had been decided at his trial and they’d both been relieved to find it worked just as well for its original owner as it had before. Harry shakes his head, clearing it quickly, thinking about the past when he has Malfoy standing over him naked and hard is counterproductive. So instead Harry lays himself down and Draco lowers himself, straddling Harry’s hips.

Malfoy sits back on his thighs and spreads his legs wide, lining their cocks against each other and begins to rock back and forth. Harry lifts up and grabs Malfoy’s arse pulling him closer and helping him move as he bring his lips to a nipple, licking and biting it and enjoying the little breathy noises of pleasure he manages to tease out of Draco.

“Summoning charm Potter, we need the lube,” Draco says as he lets his head drop back, thrusting his chest out and closer to Harry’s mouth.

Harry performs his second piece of wandless magic of the night and the same phail from the bathroom flies from the pile of fabric on the floor right into his hand. Draco shivers above him and Harry smirks up at him as he feels the vibrations of the movement against his cock. Harry pulls away from Malfoy’s body, keeping his eyes on Malfoy’s face as he unstoppers the lube and pours some on his wand hand.

“Watch, Emundabit” Malfoy says, then makes a spiral motion with his hand which Harry copies. “The cleansing charm, go ahead,” Malfoy nods towards Harry’s wand hand. Harry closes his eyes and repeats the spell, he knows it’s worked because Malfoy gasps above him and one fully body shiver runs right through Draco’s body as the magic flows through Harry’s palm.

“One finger right?” Harry rasps, his throat feeling tight at the thought of what he’s about to do. Malfoy nods and leans forward forcing Harry backwards and arching his back so that his arse rounds out and his cock brushes the base of Harry’s.

Harry reaches a hand around, carefully probing between Malfoy’s cheeks and trying to remember exactly what it had been like to have those long fingers breeching him. It had been different when he was at Malfoy’s mercy; he’d loosened Harry with his tongue first before moving onto fingers, lapping at his skin and licking long swipes over him before pressing inside. So Harry tries to recreate that by rubbing lightly over Draco’s entrance with two fingers, starting almost low enough to run over his balls, up through his parted cheeks and over his hole. He trails back down and Malfoy lowers his body to brace himself on his forearms either side of Harry’s head, close enough so that Harry, still propped up on one arm can kiss and bite at the skin on his neck as he circles around Draco’s puckered flesh with one finger. He nips lightly at Draco’s ear when he feels the entrance underneath his finger tighten, like a little nervous flutter and Harry presses his finger gently against it before pulling away and circling around it again.

“Like that?” Harry whispers against Malfoy’s skin when he presses against his rim again, this time pushing past the clenching muscles until the pad of his finger slips inside.

“Yeah,” Draco breaths. Harry presses in a little further, feeling the muscles holding him tight. Malfoy is burning hot and Harry wants to be inside him _now_ but he works his finger in and out slowly, so slowly that he wonders how he’ll hold on between the noises Draco is making above him, the tiny drag of skin against his bare cock that has already leaked enough to create a little puddle of precome on his stomach and the feeling of fingering someone for the first time. He groans when he feels a wet drop of Malfoy’s own precome land on his cock and pushes his finger in as far as it can go. He feels as though his hand is about to cramp up on him with the odd angle of his finger but before it does Malfoy pushes back against him.

“Add another,” he says and Harry pulls out before pressing back in with two fingers. Malfoy hisses, so Harry pauses, remembering the sting himself. “Move dammit. Potter, I want you to fuck me before we sit our fucking N.E.W.T’s you know.” Malfoy snarls at him.

“God Malfoy you’re such a demanding prick,” Harry growls and bites down hard on Malfoy’s neck as he thrusts his two fingers deep into his arse. And fuck does that feel good, slowly pumping two fingers inside Draco’s tight hole, slick with lube and clenching around him. He can only imagine what it will feel like when he presses his cock inside. He twists one finger over the other whilst they’re buried deep and Draco moans so loud Harry starts to wish he’d cast muffliato on the room before starting this.

“Widen your fingers, yes like that, open me up,” Draco grunts as Harry does his best to follow his instructions, scissoring his fingers apart then twining them together again and rotating them as he goes. He pulls wider every time he does it and every time his fingers press against Draco’s walls he moans. The most erotic sound Harry has ever heard. “That’s enough, take them out,” Malfoy says, as soon as Harry’s fingers are free, he lifts his hips, reaches back behind him and grabs Harry’s cock, lining it up against his hole and lowering himself just enough to let the tip push inside.

“Fuck, fuck Malfoy. Merlin, I can’t it’s too tight,” Harry whimpers as he pulls away from Malfoy’s chest and his back flops back onto the floor, he’ll have bruises down his spine tomorrow he’s sure. His eyes close, the heat and the pressure against his cock is too much, especially with Malfoy’s fingers gripping his shaft. He has the sudden urge to lift his hips, plant his heels on the floor and press up into Malfoy just to relieve the strangling band of fire around his throbbing prick but he holds himself still. Is this how Malfoy had felt when he’d pressed inside of Harry? When he’d had to stop and his fingers had kept a rhythm on Harry’s skin while he waited? He grimaces when Malfoy finally does begin to lower himself in tiny little movements, dipping down and lifting back up inch by Inch until Harry is fully seated inside him. He can't take his eyes off Malfoy's face, he'd looked like it hurt a lot as he moved, but now, _God_ now he looks like a vision perched on his lap. Eyes closed with a tiny bead of sweat crawling down the left side of his face, hair already mussed and uncharacteristically out of place, his fingers lightly stroking the skin on the very inside of his thighs just an inch away from where his cock stands straight and tall and throbbing out little pearl beads of precome. Harry reaches out, steals a drop with his thumb and tastes it, watches and feels Malfoy buck on his cock as his eyes flicker open to watch.

“Fuck,” Draco groans as his hips drag forward and his tight hole tugs on Harry's cock. It’s a gripping slide that seems to pull on Harry’s every last nerve as Draco moves up and down, as he grinds his arse against Harry’s hips, pulling his balls up and makes him want to raise is arse off the floor just to feel himself deep inside Draco’s body. _Merlin_ it’s nothing like having a wank or having Malfoy’s lips around him. It’s incredibly tight, scorching hot and unbelievably overwhelming. When Draco speeds up, leans forward and braces his palms on Harry’s chest, he looks down the length of their bodies to where his own cock bounces and slaps against the skin between them. Harry follows his gaze, taking in the beautifully flushed and obscenely leaking prick and reaches for it, wrapping a hand around it and working all that precome down its length and back up again. Malfoy moans and grinds his hips even faster, working up to a furious pace that Harry tries to match with his hand as his other clings desperately to Malfoy’s thigh. _God._ Harry doesn’t even know how he’s holding on to this, this devastating sensory overload of having Draco Malfoy, the boy he once hated and who hated him in return bouncing on his bloody cock like he’s been doing it for years. Harry’s vision is narrowed, focused only on the sweat coated, pink mottled white skin and rippling lean muscles sitting over him, undulating in waves. His skin tingles wherever Malfoy touches him, hairs standing to attention like he’s caught on the edges of a magical field. He can smell the sweat covering them both, the thick, musty aroma of their arousal mixed in with the powerful scent of wood polish and old parchment from the classroom surrounding them. Suddenly Malfoy does _something_ and his arsehole clenches so bloody tight around Harry that it takes him right to the edge and Harry knows he can’t last much longer. He grabs Draco by the hips and holds him still, then braces his feet on the floor and fucks up into Malfoy rough, hard and so fast that Malfoy falls forward and has to brace himself with his palms pressed hard against Harry’s chest.   

“C’mon Malfoy,” Harry groans, fucking even harder now and clenching his jaw, he knows Draco gets turned on when Harry calls him Malfoy so he does it again. “Malfoy, fuck Malfoy, _c’mon_ ,” and Draco moans above him, Harry’s thrusts making the sounds come out in obscene huffs but Harry can’t hold it, he presses up into Draco hard, pulling his hips down at the same time and filling him as far as he can, coming inside him so much he starts to feel a little light headed as it rushes through him. Harry groans but it’s half pleasure half disappointment, he wanted to make Draco come with his arse filled up with Harry’s prick. He’s shuddering now and almost wants to apologise when Draco sits upright and looks down at him where his chest is heaving, his heartbeat thumping so fast it’s a wonder Malfoy can't see his ribs moving in time to its frantic beating.  

“Don’t fucking _move_ Potter,” Malfoy warns him and then he starts to grind his hips against Harry again, riding him even though he’s throbbing out the last of his orgasm already. Draco wraps one hand around himself and starts to wank fast and furious as digs his fingernails into the muscle around Harry’s nipple with the other. He continues to grind down on Harry's cock but Harry feels over sensitive already and he grits his teeth hard. Malfoy’s arse still feels amazing but it also feels a little like running your palm against grains of sand, sharp and gritty. Harry squeezes his eyes shut and digs his fingernails into Draco's thighs as they move above him back and forth in a frantic rhythm.

“Malfoy, please,” Harry begs and Draco shudders, his thighs tightening around Harry's hips and his hand going still and gripping around the base of his cock as he starts to come, spraying Harry's chest and stomach.

“Fuck Potter, fuck. Fucking _fuck Potter!”_ Draco cries out jerking and quivering and all Harry can do is cry out too because Draco's clenching arsehole is gripping his cock and it's too fucking much. He wants to push Draco off him but he can't, at this point Malfoy's tightening around him so much Harry thinks his cock would break if he pulled out now.

“Fuck,” Draco swears one final time before falling forwards onto Harry's chest and panting wildly, little tremors still wracking his lithe frame.

“Draco, that was...Jesus that was good,” Harry pants, wrapping his arms around Malfoy and stroking his fingertips lightly up and down his spine. He could stay here all night, with Draco pressed against him but the floor is hard and the stone cold against his back so he taps Malfoy on the shoulder, shifting his body a little. Malfoy pulls himself off Harry and starts dressing, picking up Harry’s clothes and tossing them over.

They both freeze when they hear the distinctive sounds of Peeves approaching outside in the corridor singing and yelling at the suits of armour as he passes. Harry grabs hold of Malfoy’s arm to hold him still and raises a finger to his mouth to keep him quiet. There’s no way getting caught in a locked classroom at this time of night by Peeves would end well, and Harry has no intention of testing the theory. They wait until they can hear him pass by and zoom down the corridor before Malfoy unlocks the door and peeks around the corner. With a quick nod to Harry over his shoulder they both fall out into the corridor and head for the common room at a light jog. For the first time he can remember Harry hears Malfoy’s soft peel of laughter, rich and tuneful as they run and the grin that spreads across his face at the sound is so wide that Harry’s jaw aches by the time they tap out the familiar rhythm on the stones around the common room door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick end note to thank everyone for reading this. I enjoy all your comments even if I don't always reply to them, knowing what to say in response is always an issue for me. Your kudos, bookmarks and subscritions are pretty damned awesome you know!


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, this weeks A/N for the wonderful Marooncamaro has a slightly bittersweet edge to it. This week is gonna be a toughy for my girl and I hope, hope, hope she comes through it without too much upset. 
> 
> Love you, love <3
> 
> and lost, who's an amazing beta of course, always asking the questions that shape the chapters in ways I hadn't considered. 
> 
>  
> 
> Also, this story is coming to a quick close with only one further chapter written, there will be an epilogue so please don't worry :D

 

“I think Blaise knows about us,” Harry says quietly as he pulls up his jeans and starts struggling with the fastenings. He’d cornered Malfoy after Potions this afternoon and dragged him into one of the old classes that had sat unused since Professor Snape had started as Defense teacher.

Harry hadn’t been able to take his eyes off Draco as Professor Slughorn droned on and on some French potions master he had connections with. Harry had barely concentrated on his own work because his eyes kept straying back to Draco and the way his face was pinched in concentration and those delicate fingers handled his ingredients with such skill. So when class had finished and everyone made their way to their dinner hall, Harry had hung back and practically shoved Malfoy into the abandoned room. He’d spelled the door shut, silenced the room and then proceeded to show Draco exactly how much Harry loved those clever hands of his.

Malfoy turns to face him now as he fastens the buttons on his shirt, he’s bare from the waist down still and Harry gives him an appreciative once over, Malfoy in just a plain black shirt is definitely a sight he could get used to.

“Yes, I imagine he probably does,” Malfoy says, reaching for his trousers and slipping them on gracefully. It makes Harry feel like Hagrid’s brother Grawp being next to Malfoy. Watching Draco move is almost like watching some sort of subtle but erotic dance and Harry feels borish and uncoordinated around him most of the time.

“Hermione too,” Harry adds, watching Draco’s face. They haven’t talked about what this _thing_ is between them and he’s not sure how Draco will feel about it getting out, in fact he’s not sure how he feels about his friends knowing he’s been fucking Draco Malfoy for the last few weeks.

“Well, there’s a surprise,” Malfoy drawls, picking up his wand and casting a quick cleaning charm over Harry’s stomach where it’s still covered in Draco’s come. Harry shivers, at the pleasant cool tingle of the spell across his skin. “Little Miss. Know-it-all would have to go sticking her nose in wouldn’t she?”

“Don’t speak about Hermione like that,” Harry growls and Malfoy raises an eyebrow at the sudden ferocity in his tone. “I’m not expecting you two to be friends or anything but you could at least stop being such a prick about her.”

Malfoy studies him for a moment, fingering his wand and Harry folds his arms over his chest and stands his ground. He refuses to let Malfoy bad mouth his friends when he’s around.

“Fine,” Draco says with a heated glance before heading towards the door.

“Fine?” Harry asks incredulously, he was expecting some kind of sarcastic remark or for Draco to throw out at least an insult or two.

“Yes Potter, no more Granger or Weasel insults in your presence,” Draco concedes with a little bow of his head that Harry can’t quite make out whether he intends it to look submissive or sarcastic. Then Draco reaches for the doorknob and Harry holds his hands up to stop him.

“Wait Malfoy, what are we doing?” Harry asks suddenly. Harry runs his fingers through his hair nervously and scratches the back of his neck lightly to keep him grounded.

“We’re shagging, Potter,” Malfoy sighs as if it were obvious, which Harry’s pretty sure it is but that’s not what he bloody well meant and Draco knows that, the prat. “Think of me as your very own sexual education Professor if you will,” Malfoy laughs when Harry just frowns at him.

“Shagging? And that’s all this is?” Harry asks, his cheeks heating with embarrassment and maybe even a touch of annoyance. It’s not _just_ shagging for him, he’s pretty sure and he’s also sure that whatever Draco says; it’s not just shagging for him either.

“Yes, _shagging_ and that’s all.” Malfoy says after a very pregnant pause where he genuinely seems to be considering his options. “You’re not going to get all love sick fourth year on me now are you?” Draco sneers. Harry feels the hot flush of anger wash through him again. Malfoy is _so_ infuriating, one minute Harry wants to be pinned down underneath him and have that sarcastic, sharp tongue all over his body and the next instant he wants to hex him into oblivion. Malfoy turns and heads out into the corridor and Harry quickly grabs his trainers, not bothering to put them back on and chases Draco out.

“Malfoy! Wait,” Harry jogs until he’s beside Draco and nudges him playfully with his shoulder. “I don’t mind the fucking,” He says quietly as they walk. “S’just not something I’m used to.” Malfoy shrugs but stays quiet. Harry searches around for a change of subject, something that won’t leave him feeling like a complete and utter lovesick twat. “What are you planning to do after your N.E.W.T’s?”

“I haven’t quite decided yet. I’d imagined once that I’d become a cursebreaker,” Harry throws him a look of surprise, actually he’d pictured Draco as a typical Malfoy, unemployed and living off the Malfoy estates like his father. “I rather like the uniform.” Draco deadpans. He smoothes a hand down his chest, winks at Harry and starts to laugh. It’s rich and warm and Harry laughs along with him, it’s not often that Draco is playful but when he is it’s catching. “What about you Potter? What does life hold for the Boy Who Lived? In fact no, don’t answer that, let me guess you’ve been offered a job modelling for Quidditch leathers?” Malfoy’s cheeks heat up a little and Harry just glares at him. “You could do it you know, you’d have all the Witches in England wetting their knickers over you, you know? Not to mention the amount of Wizards who’d spend their nights wanking over your pictures.” Harry snorts, then grimaces. Really it’s quite a horrifying thought actually.

“Auror training I suppose. It’s what everyone expects of me anyway.” Harry sighs, he _had_ wanted to be an Auror and it’s a very respectful job, helping to round up the stray Death Eaters would benefit everyone but there’s a tiny corner of his mind that shies away from the idea. “Mad-eye once told me I’d make a great Auror, although saying that, it wasn’t really even Mad-eye at the time.” Harry’s brow furrows as he recalls feeling that overwhelming sense of pride at the seasoned Auror’s appreciation of his skill only to find out later that it had in fact been an insane Death Eater in disguise.

“Aren’t you tired of fighting Harry?” Draco asks, stopping mid-step and turning to face Harry with a tired look. There’s no trace of the Malfoy persona in his voice or the way he stands, loose and relaxed, non threatening. It’s a side of Malfoy not many people get to see, Harry thinks, maybe just his closest friends. Harry thinks of him more as Draco when he’s like this and less as the Malfoy he knew. These little glimpses of _his_ Draco are the things that keep Harry coming back, keep him carving out time in his life just to spend with Draco. Yeah the sex is fantastic, not that he has any point of reference but these moments where Draco softens around him far outweigh any amount of pleasure he gets when they have sex.

“Yeah, I guess,” Harry says, wrestling his thoughts back into focus. “But I want to do something worthwhile, something that will help people.” Harry is thrown not only by the genuine sadness he can read across Draco’s face or the sudden display of concern but also the fact that Draco had called him Harry, which he’s only ever done while they’re fucking before now. It sets of a weird sort of tight and twisting feeling inside his chest to hear it.

“There are other ways to help people you know. You showed me that, the night of the battle.” Draco’s expression softens and Harry feels himself drawn closer and captivated by his cool grey gaze. “Besides, I think you’ve probably done your duty to society already don’t you?” He says with one raised eyebrow, like it’s something that should have already occurred to Harry.

Harry thinks about the conversation a lot over the next few days he mulls it over and over, spends hours in the library looking up career choices and even talks to a few of the Professors after lessons. Draco is right, he’s tired of fighting, he’d never wanted to be a part of the war in the first place but had no choice. He has a choice this time, he’s free to pick his own fate for the first time in his life. The more he thinks about it the less attractive Auror training is to him. As he lies awake one night, staring vacantly at the stars flicking in the cloudless night spelled onto his canopy, he wonders what else he could do. Frustrated and tired, he rolls over and lets Isis curl around his arm. In the few moments before he finally falls asleep an idea comes to him and it just feels right.

 _“I’ll speak to McGonagall,”_ He tells Isis sleepily, she flicks her tongue at him but he’s already asleep before she has a chance to reply.

**

“Professor? Can I have a word please?” Harry says around the door to the Headmistresses office the very next day.

“Absolutely Mr. Potter,” McGonagall calls, looking up from her book and waving her hand to the empty chair beside her desk. “Have a seat. Biscuit?” She pulls a very old looking cake tin from one of the desk draws and holds it out to him. Harry peers in and fishes out a bourbon cream, he hasn’t had one of these since he managed to steal one from the kitchen back at the Dursley’s a long time ago. He glances around the room while she picks out a Garibaldi for herself, it’s exactly how he would have imagined her office to be. Neat and tidy with a few small knickknacks here and there, unlike Dumbledore's office which had looked like some sort of wizarding version of ‘Help, I’m a hoarder’ which had happened to be one of Petunia’s favourite daytime tv shows. Also, unsurprisingly, there is an awful lot of tartan around the place and Harry spots a plaque mounted behind the Professor’s chair bearing a coat of arms; there’s a motto underneath it, but Harry is too far away to make out what it says. The Headmistress clears her throat suddenly and Harry remembers why he’s here.

“Um, I wanted to talk to you about career options.” He says, setting his biscuit down on his lap for a moment, there’s an odd tinkling sound coming from somewhere on his right and he scans the wall looking for the source but there’s nothing but a few empty portraits and one with a tabby cat giving itself a pretty thorough tongue bath.

“As I understand it Mr. Potter, you had your sights set on becoming an Auror.” McGonagall raises an eyebrow at him and takes a bite of her Garibaldi, holding a blue china plate just below her chin to catch any crumbs.

“Yeah, well I’m not really sure about that anymore,” He starts nervously and McGonagall gives him an encouraging nod. “The thing is, I think I’ve spent enough time fighting in wars and really, I’ve been wondering about becoming a healer or something, maybe? I mean I’ve been doing a lot of research in the library and I thought about maybe teaching but I think being a healer would be pretty worthwhile, right?” Harry shoves the biscuit in his mouth, holding a hand underneath it so as not to drop crumbs on the Professors pristine maroon carpet. He’s nervous and for some reason it feels important to him to have McGonagall’s approval.

“Hmm,” She considers him for a moment while she finishes her mouthful. “Well yes I suppose you are probably right although I admit that teaching, especially if you were to opt for, say Defense,” She raises an eyebrow at him and purses her lips. “Yes, teaching would be rather a good fit for you and I can say that as Headmistress I would welcome you to Hogwarts with open arms once you were of an appropriate age.” Harry smiles at her, when he had considered teaching, his thoughts had immediately gone to teaching Defense classes and of course he couldn’t even imagine teaching anywhere but Hogwarts. It was good to know that he had that option open to him.

“However,” McGonagall continues. “Healing is an extremely rewarding profession. The work is hard and training is incredibly demanding but I wouldn’t doubt for a moment that you of all people would be able to handle it.” The Headmistress pauses, considering Harry for a moment. “In that case,” She turns, points her wand at a small set of draws to her right and flicks her wrist. The middle draw opens and a seemingly blank piece of parchment drifts out and lazily floats into her hand. She taps her wand against it twice and Harry sees writing begin to fill the blank page. McGonagall pushes her glasses down her nose and begins to read, making little humming noises as she goes.

“You’re definitely taking the right N.E.W.T’s to become a Healer,” McGonagall says after a moment, adjusting her glasses again and glancing between Harry and  the parchment. “I see your predicted grades in Charms, Herbology and Transfiguration are more than acceptable, Defense of course is no problem either.” She throws him an uncharacteristic twitch of her lips which Harry knows is her version of a smile. “I’m glad to see your potions mark has improved although Professor Slughorn has indicated that you may need a little extra assistance should you wish to secure the required grade for Auror training, which happens to be the same for a career in Healing.” Harry nods, potions never has been his strong point but he’s been muddling through ok without the help of Snape’s old potions book this year. “We could see whether we could persuade the professor to give you extra lessons of course. I will enquire with Professor Slughorn regarding his availability on your behalf.” She nods as if the subject is settled and spells the parchment back into its draw before folding her arms on the desktop. “Now, if there is nothing else, I’m afraid I have a meeting with Professor Flitwick in a few moments,” She looks at him expectantly over the rim of her glasses, her fingers laced together on the desk.  

Harry stands suddenly, making sure to hold his half eaten biscuit in a closed fist, “Um no Professor, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome Potter.” Feeling dismissed, Harry heads for the door and is just about to leave when McGonagall calls him back. “Oh and Potter? I think you’ll make an excellent healer, your parents would be very proud.” She says with a melancholy smile. Harry ducks his head and leaves, closing the door softly behind him and leaning against it for a moment. He feels an overwhelming sense of relief wash over him suddenly and smiles to himself before heading off to the library to check out some more books on Healing.

McGonagall sends a third year boy to find him an hour or so later. The kid sort of reminds him of Neville at the same age, he’s shy and nervous when he approaches the table Harry has set himself up on, covered with books on famous Healers and the History of St Mungo’s in the back corner of the library. The third year boy stands a few feet away, worrying at his lip as he eyes Isis who, is currently winding her way around the various books and hissing away in parseltongue. Harry smiles at him and waves him over. The boy hands over the rolled up parchment with a nervous smile and a clear two feet of distance between him and Isis before scurrying away without ever saying a word.

 _“It’s from McGonagall, she says that she’s arranged for me to have extra potions classes every Wednesday evening starting next week,”_ Harry tells Isis with an excited grin, she’s the only person, other than the Headmistress that he’s told about his change in career plan and she had been more than happy to hear that he wouldn’t be going off and getting himself in danger once they left school. He vows to find Hermione and Ron next and let them know as he packs away the books scattered across the desk and decides to take one or two back to the common room with him. No doubt Hermione would be interested in doing a little bit of research on his behalf.

“Oh Harry, that’s a brilliant idea!” Hermione says pulling him down into a hug with a giant smile plastered on her face when he tells her and Ron that evening.

“But mate! We were going to go through Auror training together, be partners fighting crime!” Ron says disbelievingly from the sofa. Harry spreads out on the floor beside the fire a soon as Hermione releases him from her arms, settling herself back onto the sofa beside Ron.

“I know, but I’ve been thinking about it, I mean _really_ thinking about it and I can’t be an Auror.” Harry grimaces at the look of pain on Ron’s face. “You’ll be great though and plus, I’ve been doing a little bit of research,” Harry nods at Hermione who looks incredibly proud. “And I’ve decided to go for the Mediwizard degree which means field work and they work alongside the Auror teams, so you never know we might work together after all.”

“Still, It’s gonna be weird but you know, I can totally see you being a field Wizard, hey, you might even get to go to the Quidditch league sometimes!” Ron says sitting forward on the couch and grinning. “You’ll probably get to meet loads of famous players!” Harry laughs hard and loud at Ron’s sudden enthusiasm for his new career choice and feels the affection he feels for these two bubble over and make his throat tight.

The common room door opens, catching their attention and Harry lifts a hand in greeting when Terry and Daphne filter through followed by two students he’d never even met before this year, Roger Malone and Kevin Entwhistle, all of them chatting away happily as they make their way over to the collection of giant floor cushions near the girls bedrooms. Harry spots Draco at the very back of the crowd, clutching a stack of books in his arms, looking irritated and slightly flustered, it makes that same part inside Harry’s chest tighten and twist when he catches Malfoy with his guard down like this. Draco doesn’t even notice Harry, Ron and Hermione as he heads straight for his dorm room, obviously in a hurry to rid himself of the books he’s carrying. Harry pushes himself up from the floor quickly and follows, catching him just in the door frame and puts a hand on Malfoy’s shoulder. Draco spins around with a frown, obviously ready to throw out an insult or two until he see’s that it’s Harry touching him and he quickly glances around the common room, taking in its other occupants and the way Hermione and Ron are watching, Hermione with a sly grin and Ron with a slack jaw and open mouth.

Harry leans in close enough that Malfoy can feel his breath against his neck and Harry doesn’t miss the furious blush that spreads quickly over his face, or the way his soft grey eyes dart to the floor and stay there. One of Malfoy’s fingers lifts from the tight grip around one of the books and starts idly picking at its spine. Harry can practically _feel_ Draco’s heart speed up and can see the flutter of his pulse at his jawline or the prickling of his skin where the hairs stand up when he leans a little closer.

“I went to speak to McGonagall about becoming a Mediwizard today,” Harry whispers, grinning when Malfoy’s eyes flicker back up to his again and he turns his body enough that they stand face to face. Harry could easily just lean forwards and kiss him but he’s achingly aware of the eyes boring into the back of his skull, more so when Malfoy’s glance flits down to Harry’s mouth, then over his shoulder at their audience. “Thank you,” Harry says quietly but firmly. Malfoy’s eyes seem to go from their usual cold grey colour to something that’s closer to a deep silvery shade as Harry looks at them and watches his pupils dilate. He’s struck again by just how beautiful he thinks Draco is and wonders how he hadn’t ever seen it before.

“Good,” Malfoy says, his spine straightening. “At least we won’t have to hear about the _Great Harry Potter and his Auror adventures_ in the Prophet at least,” Harry knows that what he means is ‘ _I’m glad you found something less dangerous for a career’._ Harry leers at him, because he’s thinking about pushing Malfoy down onto the nearest bed and stripping his expensive clothes off piece by piece and of course, if the interested flicker of one eyebrow and slight upturn to one side of Malfoy’s mouth is anything to go by, Harry has managed to get his point across perfectly clearly. He steps away instead and walks back to where Ron and Hermione are still watching him with a ridiculous grin spread across his face. Harry slumps back down onto his spot before the fire and crosses his ankles over as he stretches his legs out underneath him, feeling smug.

“What in Merlin’s name was that about?” Ron asks him, looking shocked. Harry picks a bit of lint of his forearm and shrugs, avoiding Ron’s eyes and Hermione’s knowing smirk. His mind races, trying to think up an excuse for the way he basically just cornered Malfoy to flirt with him right in front of his best friends.

“Quidditch,” Harry blurts out landing on the first thing that comes into his head. “Just, you know, psyching him out for Sunday.” Ron settles back in his chair, obviously mollified by what Harry thinks was a pretty terrible explanation.

“He's not gonna know what hit him mate, your new Slipstream is gonna flatten him, unless he's got himself that new Cleansweep. You don't think he has do you Harry?” Ron leans forward again, brow wrinkled in a frown, Hermione sighs and returns back to her book. If there's one thing that deters Ron from anything serious it's quidditch, Harry settles into the conversation with gusto and it quickly descends into a discussion about brooms and whether the Cannons have any chance at all of managing to stay out of the bottom of the league this year.

They don't, Harry has no idea why Ron tortures himself year after year, his bet is on the Harpy’s like always, but he won't tell Ron that.

“Harry?” Hermione says quietly when she notices Ron gently beginning to snore beside her an hour or so later. Harry turns his head from where he had been staring up at the ceiling counting the knots in one of the giant wooden beams. “What's going on between you and Malfoy?” She asks, folding her book closed and curling her fingers around its binding. Harry casts a nervous glance in Ron’s direction first but he's muttering quietly now and Harry knows their hushed tones won't wake him, he glances towards the doorway where Malfoy had disappeared and not yet reemerged from.

“Nothing, really Mione,” Harry lies smoothly when he confirms the coast is clear. “I'm just, you know, being friendly.” She scoffs loudly and then glances back at the still sleeping Ron nervously. “Inter House cooperation right?” Harry asks, turning back to the ceiling and folding his arms across his chest but he’s pretty sure the enormous grin spreading his cheeks is a tell. He glances at Hermione out of the corner of his eye and yeah, she’s always been the cleverest Witch of her age and she bloody well knows. He winks at her quickly then closes his eyes and listens to her soft chuckle and the rustle of her clothes as she settles back to her book.

 **

Harry hasn’t been on a broomstick since the day after he took delivery of his Slipstream, the newest upgrade in the Nimbus series that had set him back more Galleons than he cares to think about. He’d put in the order through the mail service during those first few weeks where he couldn’t stand to be seen out in public and he’d taken it out for a spin at The Burrow one Friday afternoon. The sun had been fierce and unrelenting but the wind had cooled the burn as he’d kicked off from underneath his favourite tree at the edge of the orchard and left his worries back on the ground with the dirt and the rotting apples. He’d got terrible sunburn across his nose and forearms that day, the skin had peeled for a week afterwards despite Molly’s insistence that he use one of her salves to fix it, Harry had left the little pot on the cabinet beside the sink. In a sick sort of way, he’d enjoyed the throbbing heat and twinges of pain when the skin became tight and cracked when he moved. At the time, it had reminded him that he was still alive, that he could still feel _something._

When Harry walks out onto the Quidditch pitch on Sunday morning he’s dressed in a set of high quality leathers that had been sent to him along with his new Slipstream; a gift, the silver cursive note had said, for the man who had vanquished He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Harry hadn’t been happy about the ‘gift’, he didn’t need presents from people he’d never met he had enough money to buy the things he needed. Still, when he had opened the shimmering red and golden wrapping and pulled out the uniform, he’d been more than a little bit impressed and just a touch overwhelmed. The leathers are a deep, rich black trimmed with a green that matches his own eyes perfectly. The guards feel as though they were moulded around casts of his own body and the whole ensemble has a number of weather repelling charms weaved into the soft but strong folds of the fabric. Harry had tugged it on with only a small amount of reluctance this morning, Ron was practically dancing in front of him, urging him to wear it instead of the school issue practice uniforms. They had all agreed not to use the House uniforms, now that they are all exempt from being sorted and trying for unity anyway. Instead, one team would be sporting a bright orange armband the other team, a band of white. Luckily, Harry isn’t the only one dressed in their own leathers, Seamus and Dean both have a new set of rich brown each. Ron has a set that Ginny and George had bought him for his last birthday in maroon and Justin walks onto the pitch wearing a fantastic set in a deep shade of purple. None of them hold a candle to Harry’s though.

What really catches Harry’s attention is when Malfoy walks onto the pitch flanked by Theo and Blaise both wearing their regular school robes. Next to them, Malfoy is dressed in emerald green robes similar to those worn by Slytherin but with a soft shimmer that makes the fabric look slippery, like water over moss covered rocks. Pristine ivory trousers and dark brown bracers remind Harry of sitting at the edge of the wide lake after jumping from the back of the Gringotts dragon. The soft sparks of light glancing off the water surface, the green leaves swaying in the breeze around them and the stones settled and buried in the rich mud around them. Once again, Malfoy looks like a wet dream dragged right from the depths of Harry’s subconscious. Harry thinks back to their conversation about career choices and yeah, he can totally see Draco posing on the cover of a Quidditch mag. The image of Malfoy in _his_ leathers will be a strong contender in Harry’s wank fantasies over the next few years.

“Merlin,” Harry mutters to himself as he turns away from Draco before he starts drooling, or worse. He has no idea how he’s going to keep his attention focused on tracking the snitch when Malfoy will be dogging his heels the entire time looking like _that_. Harry heads over to where Ron’s digging out the sealed box of Quidditch supplies, carefully wrestling with the bludgers and making sure that Justin, Terry, Theo and surprisingly Hannah Abbot are ready to take care of them once they’re loose. The teams are a long way from House standards but there aren’t a lot of options when less than thirty students returned for their Eighth year and not many interested in actually playing Quidditch. It doesn’t really matter anyway, they’re out here to blow off steam and have some fun, there are no House cups for them, just fresh air and the ability to forget about their upcoming exams and overwhelming piles of homework.

“Ready everyone?” Ron bellows to the players and everyone quickly mounts their brooms, preparing to kick off all at once. “Hey Padma, come set these free for me so I can get up quick,” Padma hurries over from her seat on the ground next to Hermione and a few of the girls who came out to watch and takes charge of letting the various balls loose as soon as Ron gives the go ahead. They all thrust up into the air almost as one, like some predetermined aerial display, calling out with whoops and cheers as the cool wind batters them and sends their robes flapping around behind them.

Harry grins and cheers right alongside them as he pulls the handle of his broom up towards the sky then loops over in a backwards circle, corkscrewing through the air on the back turn. He would happily fly every day for the rest of his life just to chase the feel of being free and unencumbered by school or social roles or the memories of things he’s lost. Up here, where the ground is a green sprawl and spectators are no more than multicoloured smudges on the landscape, the only thing he has to think about is the feel of the smooth, curved wood underneath his palms; how his knees grip the wider base of the broom and the flickering, fluttering of the tricky snitch as it dances around in his peripheral vision, taunting and teasing him before it darts off and disappears once more; calling Harry in the chase.

Ron seems to have left the nerves of his early keeper days back in wake of their sixth year and he moves confidently and fluidly around his goalposts as he saves goal after goal despite the natural skill of the three chasers wearing orange arm bands. In fact, Harry thinks both teams are fairly evenly matched with neither side managing to score until they'd already been up in the air for at least fifteen minutes. Harry circles the pitch, cavorting on his new sleek broom just to test its limits, keeping one eye on Malfoy and one searching hungrily for the snitch as he flies. He’s just performed a pretty spectacular triple twist around one of the goal posts when a flash of green catches his eye from the side. Malfoy rushes past him at breakneck speed and Harry claws his Slipstream around, tearing after him while his eyes dart back and forth looking for the tiny golden ball that Malfoy _must_ have spotted.

Harry is less than four feet away when Malfoy pulls his broom to a halt with a sharp tug on the handle and twists in the air to face Harry and throw him a smirk as he tries to correct his trajectory so they don’t plough into one another. Harry circles around and Draco turns himself in a tight circle to watch him as he comes to a dead stop. They’re facing each other, the handles of their brooms sitting alongside one another close enough that the backs of their hands could touch. They’re both breathless with heaving chests and rosy pink cheeks from the wind and the little puffs of clouded air that escape their mouths mingle together before their eyes. Malfoy’s usually perfectly styled hair is a tangled mess forced back from his forehead in a way that should look completely and utterly absurd but actually looks like something out of a muggle GQ magazine Harry had rifled through in the Tesco’s Hermione had dragged him along to once.

“Race you Potter,” Malfoy says playfully, his lips curled up in a leer. Harry tightens his grip on his broom and pulls himself around so that they’re hovering side by side only inches away from touching. He can see from this close that Malfoy’s broom is not the same one he had had when they had been at school, it’s sleek black and trimmed with silver with perfectly clipped twigs at the back and beautifully ornate footplates on either side. The silver lettering engraved just underneath Malfoy’s gloved hands is covered over and Harry has no idea what make it is but he can see it’s a beautifully crafted broom.

“One lap around? The tree marks the finish,” Harry says, pointing to a large oak to his left. Malfoy grins at him again, but this time it’s mischievous and then he’s off in a silver and green blur, leaving Harry behind with a slack jaw and laughter bubbling in his chest. Harry races after him as fast as he can, keeping his eyes on Malfoy as he wields his broom like a third arm. Malfoy is graceful and skilled enough to get himself signed to one of the top league teams Harry thinks. When Draco pulls his broom into a maneuver, it’s tight; perfectly executed and makes Harry forget that he’s supposed to be catching the snitch, not catching himself a Malfoy.

They twist and turn around each other, each one trying to out fly the other as they cavort through the air like a pair of male birds displaying for their mate set firmly on the ground. Except they’re showing off for each other, taunting one another and pushing the other faster, harder and goading each other on. That is, until Harry hears Ron’s voice magically enhanced with a sonorous no doubt, bellowing through the air at him.

“Harry, stop flirting with Malfoy and find the bloody snitch!” Harry balks, spinning around to check the scores and flicking two fingers at Ron in a rude gesture. His team’s ahead by twenty points but a quick scan of the pitch shows that Malfoy’s team are putting up a pretty brutal fight. It takes them another ten minutes, one broken chasers nose and five more goals before Harry finally catches sight of the snitch hovering not too far from Terry’s left ankle where he’s stationary no more than ten feet from the ground.

Harry feints, pretending to zip around behind Ron then, as soon as Malfoy’s distracted he takes off like a bolt of lightning pushing his broom to its maximum capacity as he tears after the snitch at breakneck speed. He can _feel_ Malfoy hot on his tail he flattens himself as low as he can, his chest pushing into the polished wood handle to gain extra ground. Terry spots him at the last moment, throwing himself and his broom off to his left with a little squeal of shock and then Harry’s hand is stretching out, fingers scrabbling in the air and closing tight onto cold fluttering gold.  

Harry lifts his fist in triumph and hears a roar of applause and cheers from his teammates and the spectators on the ground who are getting to their feet and jumping up and down. He grins at them for a split second before a flurry of green and white barrels into him, knocking him clean off his broom and into the ground with such force that Harry nearly loses his breath. He wraps his arms around the body that slams into him instinctively and they roll through the grass, tumbling over and over until they finally skid to a stop. Malfoy pushes himself up on his arms and his face is bright pink, eyes twinkling with a smear of grass and mud covering his cheek and one side of his forehead. They’re only inches away from each other, panting wildly, their heartbeats crashing against their chests where they’re pressed against each other. Malfoy’s fingers tighten on Harry’s shoulders for a second and he leans down, tucking his head into Harry’s neck to whisper against his ear.

“Nice catch Potter,” Draco says before pushing himself up and holding a hand out for Harry to take. Malfoy pulls Harry off the ground and dusts some loose sod off one of his shoulders with his mouth twisted up in a crooked smile as their teams descend on them both and pull them into a giant celebratory scrum. It doesn’t matter who won, in the end they all had a brilliant time and every single one of them joins the mass hug of jumping bodies.  

Draco is waiting for him as everyone else piles off the pitch, arm in arm and singing a bawdy quidditch song Seamus had taught them all. No one even gives them a backwards glance as they walk almost shoulder to shoulder, a mark of how different this year is to all the others they’d shared at the castle that their friends would let Draco Malfoy walk side by side with Harry Potter, once enemies, now undeniable friends. When they do finally make it into the changing rooms, There’s only a few people left inside, Terry is sitting on the bench, pulling his jeans back on and Justin is leaning against the wall nearby chatting away merrily.

“Seamus told me to tell you guys to hurry up and get back to the common room, I think him and Ron are gonna go steal some food from the kitchens to celebrate,” Terry says as Harry props his broom against the bench and sits down to work the laces of his calf high boots.

“Tell him to save me some treacle tart, I’ll be up in a bit,” Harry says, waving a hand to indicate the grass stains across his skin and all the dirt that falls from his hair when he moves his head.

Harry watches Malfoy as he slowly begins to peel off the green cloak from around his shoulders, hanging it delicately on one of the pegs by his right ear. Malfoy lifts one leg and places it on the shin high bench, leaning down to carefully pluck at the knots in the long black laces tied at his rounded calf and Harry’s gaze travels hot and heavy up the back of Malfoy’s thighs and the curve of his spectacular arse as he bends down. He barely even registers the sound of the door swinging shut as Terry and Justin leave and head back to the common room before he’s throwing his wand out in the general direction of the door and locking it with a quick flick of his thoughts. If Malfoy feels the rush of his magic, or hears the spell taking hold he doesn’t show any sign of it, just tugs off his boot and starts working on the next one, a little quicker this time.

Harry’s chest is heaving already with growing anticipation and his stomach twists almost painfully as he tugs off his own boots, yanking one after the other off and dropping them to the ground. He turns to face the wall, stripping his robe off, following with his bracers and finally pulling his jersey up over his head and dumping it in a crumpled mess on the floor. Malfoy still has his back to him but his feet are bare against the pale blue tiles and they’re narrow at the heel but spread wide at the front while still managing to look delicate with perfectly manicured toe nails. Harry has never even remotely found _feet_ attractive until right now. He pushes himself up from the bench and steps quickly up behind Malfoy, wrapping his hands around Malfoy’s waist and pushing the green jersey up until and over his head.

Harry pulls Draco back against him harshly and bites into the creamy skin stretched over the backs of his shoulders while his hands trail down and pull apart the laces holding Malfoy’s trousers closed. Draco is hard already underneath Harry’s wandering palms and he hisses when Harry curls his fingers around the sharp outline of his prick pressing against the fabric.

“Jesus Malfoy, I’d forgotten how fucking good you are,” Harry growls into the skin along Malfoy’s shoulders. He pushes Draco’s trousers down roughly; ignoring Malfoy’s groan and the way his head tilts back and white blonde hair, stained green in places brushes against his pale forehead. It’s a tender touch that at any other time would have rendered Harry helpless and wide eyed in rapture, but he’s too far gone already after watching Malfoy all afternoon.

“I haven’t enjoyed a quidditch match like that since Slytherin flattened Ravenclaw in our second year.” Malfoy breaths as Harry ruts against his beautifully bare arse and continues at mouth at the back of Malfoy’s shoulders. Harry tilts up on the balls of his feet so that he can mouth at the long stretch of skin at the bottom of Malfoy’s neck, he’s never wished for a few extra inches in height more than he does now.

“I never thought you’d enjoy losing so much,” Harry growls as he pulls Malfoy harder against him and grinds his hips against Draco’s arse.

“I don’t-” Malfoy groans and dips his head down to watch Harry’s hand work its way inside his trousers, cupping him and rubbing his cock through the opening. “-I don’t consider _this_ losing.”

“Please tell me you have lube or something?” Harry groans, pulling back and working his own trousers down and palming himself while his eyes travel hungrily over Malfoy’s back and the curve of his arse.

“Despite what you may believe,” Malfoy breaths as he hooks his fingers into his trousers and pushes them further down along with his boxers. Harry watches him bend and swallows thickly. “I don’t carry lube around with me.”

Harry groans and wraps a hand around himself, stroking lightly as Draco straightens up and turns his head to glance at Harry over his shoulder with a look so seductive Harry thinks he could just wank himself right here, coating Malfoy’s creamy white cheeks with his come. He closes his eyes and pictures it, holding Malfoy’s hips steady while he rubs the head of his cock over the cleft in that pretty pale skin until he shudders and spills all over it. Harry works his hand faster as he imagines rubbing his release into Malfoy’s arse then spinning Draco around and dropping to his knees, sucking Malfoy down until he comes down Harry’s throat. He’s so lost in his fantasy that he completely misses what Draco had just said.

“Huh?” Harry says weakly, tearing his eyes away from Draco’s skin and instead catching the cool silvery-grey gaze under half closed lids and golden eyelashes.

“Broom kit Potter, there's oil.” Draco waves a hand to the small wooden grooming kit on the bench beside him and Harry leaps for it. He ignores the clippers and rags and pulls out a little bottle of oil made for working into the wooden handle of Malfoy’s broom.

“Is it safe?” Harry asks, tipping a few drops onto his palm and using a finger to test the texture. He brings it up to his nose and sniffs it, the scent of marzipan filling his senses.

“It’s almond, it’s safe,” Malfoy says as he kick his trousers off his feet and places his palms against the tiled wall, sticking his glorious arse out like a display.

“Merlin Malfoy, school would've been a hell of a lot better if we’d been doing this for the last seven years.” Harry reaches out and palms Malfoy's cheeks apart, stroking an oiled up finger over his crack and pressing lightly against the rose pink bud hidden within the crease. Malfoy pushes back against him asking for more and Harry obliges. He presses one finger inside Draco and works quickly to open him up, rushing a second finger in the first time Malofy moans. He twists and reaches his free arm around Draco’s hips to help keep him steady because he can feel Malfoy’s knees starting to shake underneath him.

“It’s enough,” Malfoy breathes as his hips jerk in Harry's grip. It’s barely enough though, Harry knows that Malfoy is rushing just as much as he is but neither of them care. The adrenalin from the match still buzzes like the crackle of electricity through them and, Harry thinks, the ultimate taboo of school and old house rivals fucking in the showers after a quidditch match is obscenely hot.

Harry wrenches his fingers free quick enough to make Malfoy wince, his shoulder blades pinch together as Harry lines himself up and presses forward without pausing. It’s tight, _really_ tight but the oil makes the slide a little easier. Malfoy’s breath catches repeatedly as Harry pushes forward until he’s fully seated and leaning over Draco’s back, feeling both their heartbeats quickening. When Harry starts to move, its fast and sloppy and Malfoy is already working his hand over his own cock as they both race towards finishing. Both far too wound up to take their time or worry about making it last. Malfoy fucks forward into his fist as Harry’s hips snap furiously against his arse and his hands pull Draco back against him, pressing himself deeper each time. There’s no finesse to it, no roaming, soothing hands and gentle touches. Harry takes what he wants, quick and ruthless as he whispers heated words and pleas into Draco’s ear.

“Fuck you look good on a broom Malfoy, Merlin I couldn’t even fucking concentrate on the bloody snitch. I just had to, fuck, just had to _feel_ you.” Harry whispers; his voice strained and harsh, each word punctuated by a rough snap of his hips and the tightening of his fingers into Malfoy’s skin.

“I...I,” Malfoy starts, then groans long and loud and it sounds like it’s through gritted teeth but Harry needs to hear Draco talk.

“C’mon Malfoy, talk to me. Fuck, I love the sound of your voice,” Harry groans and speeds up.

“I _let_ you catch the damned snitch Potter, let you win the bloody match,” Malfoy grunts and Harry laughs at the tone because he can hear Draco trying to sneer at him but Harry is fucking him too hard and fast for it to really be effective. “I’m close Potter, bloody hell.” Malfoy’s whine and his easy admittance of being right on the edge drives Harry even faster, he wants Draco to go over first, wants to feel him coming while he’s still inside.

“Yes Malfoy. Draco c’mon and come for me, please. _Please_ ,” Harry begs, holding on for dear life, right on the edge of his own orgasm. “Please, please c’mon.”

“Oh shit, Harry!” Draco shouts as he clenches down on Harry’s cock and fists himself harder, faster, rougher until he’s convulsing and coming hard and fast over the tiles in front of him. His muscles shake under Harry’s hands and his arse quivers tight and hot around Harry’s cock, pushing him over the edge. Harry yanks Malfoy hard against his body and presses his forehead into the knobs of Draco’s spine as he spills into him with a shout that’s muted and muffled against Draco’s skin. Harry pants harshly, his head spinning with the rush of endorphins and the withdrawal of all that adrenaline leaving him feeling cold and shivery. He wraps both arms around Malfoy trying to absorb some of his body heat but he can’t help but slide a hand down to trail over Malfoy’s softening cock.

“Don’t, fuck Potter don’t I’m bloody sensitive you prick,” Harry laughs as Malfoy tries to pull away but he takes his hand off him anyway and just holds him close for another moment before pulling away and dropping to sit on the bench with his head in between his knees.

“I think I rather like it when you beg Potter,” Malfoy says, running a hand through his messy blonde locks and sashaying into the shower cubicle. Harry hears the water turn on and the soft groan that wafts over to him as the warm spray hits Draco’s skin. Harry quickly shucks off his socks and joins Malfoy in the shower. He gently lifts the soft sponge out of Draco’s hand and turns him so that they’re facing each other and starts carefully washing him, slow and tender.

It’s not long before Draco is hard again and Harry takes great pleasure in dropping to his knees on the wet tiles and sucking him lazily with two fingers buried deep in Malfoy’s arse, until he comes down Harry’s throat with a shout. They head back up to the common room with muscles that feel like marshmallows and stomachs that growl with the prospect of a feast waiting for them.

 


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here it is, the final chapter! I mean, there's going to be an epilogue as promised which I'm still currently writing (don't worry it should absolutely be finished before next Monday). 
> 
> I hope you've all enjoyed my very first foray into the HP fandom I've certainly enjoying writing Harry and Draco and am truly thankful for all the comments, kudos, bookmarks and subscriptions you guys have given me for this fic. 
> 
> I tell you, Lost being my beta for this has worked wonders for me, she's added so many of her ideas to this fic that just flesh it out and make it so much better so I'm eternally grateful to her for that (plus she writes funny comments on the edited version that have me in fits of giggles).
> 
> You're probably getting fed up of reading this but this really is all down to Marooncamaro who just happened to turn a year older back in May and somewhere in my insane little brain I thought I'd write her a *short one shot* and Merlin's four day old Y-fronts this bugger is what came out of a stray thought one night. 
> 
> Enjoy!

 

Harry makes his way down to the dungeons straight after his last lesson on Wednesday afternoon feeling tense. Their Transfiguration class had been harder than usual today, McGonagall had made them all attempt to turn a tiny silver pin into a pigeon which had been surprisingly difficult. Harry had somehow managed to turn his into a door mouse with feathers which he thought was pretty impressive actually, except that it had no ears and only two legs.

Ron had dissolved into a fit of laughter and asked McGonagall if he could keep it, until he had made his attempt and his pin had spun wildly on the desk before smoking lightly and burning a hole in the table. Ron stopped laughing then and turned a bright shade of beetroot. Hermione of course had produced a pigeon so perfect on her second attempt, Harry could imagine seeing it pecking around on the ground in central London. Malfoy had been right behind her, transfiguring his pin into a beautiful specimen with pristine white feathers dappled with spots of grey and a stunning fan tail. He hadn’t even looked smug about it as Harry stood lamenting over his disfigured little feathered mouse which, Ron had now merrily named Mr. Nibbles.

Harry’s brain is so saturated with revision and exhausted from overuse that he doesn’t even register where McGonagall’s directions are taking him as he wends his way through the dark, cold stone corridors. That is, not until he pushes against the heavy mahogany door and finds himself in a very familiar room. Harry comes to a dead stop as soon as his eyes register where he is and he scans the empty room twice before looking back over his shoulder into the still deserted corridor, sure he’d mistaken McGonagall’s instructions somehow.

“Mr Potter,” Yeah, that was the voice he had been both expecting and dreading the moment he pushed open the door. Even after so long, Snape’s measured voice can still make the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stand on end and his blood heat up underneath his skin. Harry turns and finds a life sized portrait of Severus Snape standing with his arms crossed across his chest, looking down his hooked nose at Harry.

“Snape?” Harry says automatically as he drinks in the sight of his old professor. His mind is a whirl of conflicting emotions. He’s hated Snape for so many years that anger and disgust are the first things he feels, closely chased to the back of his mind by the memories of just how much Severus Snape had sacrificed for them all and a deep measured respect for the man who had kept such a big secret for the majority of his life.

“You will address me as _Professor Snape_ in my dungeons or _Sir_ if you please,” Snape says as he shifts his feet, moves out of the frame and appears almost instantly in another only a few feet away. Harry spins on the spot and almost gasps. Surrounding the walls are giant, empty frames just like the first one Snape had appeared in. Harry’s impressed, with all these it means that Snape can easily move around the room, see from every angle. Harry wonders why, with a room like this, Snape didn’t continue on as Potions Master instead of letting Slughorn take over.

“Why?” Harry asks as he turns slowly on his heels to take in the rest of the room. The desks have all been cleared out, with only one giant corner shaped table that runs close to the edge of the room left behind. Harry steps over to it and runs a hand along it. The wood feels smooth under his fingers, not the pitted scarred wood of their old potions desks after years of exploding cauldrons and corroding ingredients. Snape follows Harry as he walks, stepping into the picture frame that looms over one side of the desk. Harry looks up at him, remembering suddenly how Snape had looked into his eyes as he had died. That soft, pleading ‘look at me’ still echoes around his nightmares sometimes and the dark eyes that look down at him now are softer somehow, than he’s ever seen them within these walls.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Harry adds glancing away and reaching down to unpack his bag, pulling out parchment, quills and unshrinking his own cauldron.

“With your connection to the Dark Lord’s mind,” Snape begins, with that familiar sneer turning up the corner of his lips as he looks down on Harry. “It would have been beyond foolish to make you aware of certain…. _information_.”

“Right,” Harry can understand that, Dumbledore had insinuated the same in Kings Cross station. “And my mother?” Harry tries not to let his voice break when he says the word. “You...loved her.” He doesn’t look at Snape, instead he focuses on inspecting the cauldron already sitting out on the table.

“As you saw,” Harry’s head snaps up at the words but Snape’s sneer is gone and he looks somehow older, more worn around the edges, tired. 

“Is that why you agreed to teach me Potions?” Harry asks, he doubts Snape would have agreed to it before the war. Snape doesn’t answer though and the room is filled with the gentle crackle of flame in the candelabras mounted around the walls.

“The Headmistress informed me that you no longer wish to become an Auror,” Snape finally says in a business like tone. Harry nods and makes a small noise of agreement, lays his wand on the table beside his Potions book. He fiddles with them both, lining them up just so as a distraction. “What prompted this change? And why healing? Becoming a healer is a gruelling process you realise?” Harry tries to think of an excuse but he’s not sure something as basic as ‘I just felt like it’ would cut it with Snape. He gets the feeling that he’s being tested, that Snape won’t agree to their lessons if he doesn’t think Harry is dedicated enough.

“It was Draco who made me rethink becoming an Auror. He made me realise that it wasn’t what I wanted to do anymore, that there were other ways to make a difference that didn’t include fighting or using my name to get things done.” Harry says, meeting Snape’s gaze head on with his chin held high.

“Malfoy?” Snape raises an eyebrow and one hand reaches out to smooth a crease in his robes on the opposite arm. Harry knows that his face must show a mixture of affection and probably determination because Snape just studies his expression for a moment before nodding curtly.

“Draco and I have become…..friends,” Harry admits and desperately tries not to blush because he always imagined that Snape could read his mind without even trying and he _really_ doesn’t want the professor reading exactly what he means by ‘friends’.

“Really?” Snape says, as if he’s mulling over an idea, there’s also a hint of amusement in his tone that rubs Harry up the wrong way. He bristles and clenches his jaw.

“Well, dying sort of changes you,” Harry says somewhat defiantly.

“Indeed it does.” Snape’s tone is enigmatic and Harry wonders if he’s thinking about his own death. Snape claps his hands together once and moves swiftly into the adjoining frame. “In today’s lesson you will learn how to brew a simple pepperup potion. You will receive _no_ assistance from myself. The ingredients are in the cupboard, the instructions you will find on page 197. You have one hour.” And with that Harry’s first extra potions lesson begins.

Forty seven minutes later; when Harry’s hair has turned even more unruly than usual, plastered to the sides of his face from sweat and steam from his cauldron, he presents Snape with a perfectly brewed Pepperup potion. Harry holds up an entire cauldron of it in fact with a carefully neutral face, because he doesn’t think Snape would appreciate it if he bounded up to the professor beaming like a first year after their first ever broomstick ride. Even if he kind of wants to. Harry is amazed at how much easier brewing potions is when he has an entire class to himself without the hissing and popping of multiple cauldrons or the cursing and muttering of other students, not to mention the fact that Snape had been almost silent throughout. Not once had Professor Snape ever left him alone during one of his potions classes, he’d always made a point of baiting Harry or sneering at him while insulting him, his friends or his house. Apparently Harry’s not the only one who Death has changed.

“Mhmmm,” Snape leans forward as much a his portrait will allow to peer into Harry’s cauldron, he studies the contents for a moment before straightening up once more and looking down at Harry. “Surprisingly acceptable Potter.”

“Thank you Sir,” Harry replies and he thinks it may be the very first time he’s ever used that honorific without any hint of sarcasm or defiance and quite possibly the first time Severus has ever given him a compliment. Frankly, having Snape tell him his potion is ‘surprisingly acceptable’ is tantamount to receiving an Outstanding.  

“Pack away your things Potter, you will report here again at the same time next week.” Snape tells him and with a swirl of his robes, the professor walks from his portrait and disappears altogether. Harry scans the room, checking the other frames but Snape doesn’t reappear. He smiles to himself as a rush of pride washes over him and almost punches the air in celebration before packing the potions kit away, siphoning off the pepperup potion into individual phials and heading back to the common room.

**

The funny thing about having Potions lessons with Snape by himself is that Harry actually starts to sort of like the man, despite the snarky, sarcastic remarks or the sneering tone he uses sometimes, or maybe because of them? Snape sort of reminds him of Draco sometimes and that’s weirdly comforting for Harry these days. In addition to _sort of_ beginning to like Snape, Harry learns how to brew a lot of potions used in healing, learns different statis charms to use on the potions and patients and practices the theory on how to fix breaks and heal wounds.

Harry starts helping Madam Pomfrey out in the hospital wing from time to time and he’s not the only one either. He finds that Susan Bones is also planning on becoming a healer, along with Padma Patil, Hannah Abbot and, surprisingly Michael Corner. They all take turns in working in the hospital wing after their classes one day a week. Madam Pomfrey shows them the practical application of some of the healing spells and sometimes even allows them to practice some of the lesser spells on any students willing to allow an Eighth year to treat them. Harry loves it, even though his workload feels as though it’s crushing him most weeks, he always looks forward to dropping his books off at the end of the day on a Monday night and heading down to the hospital wing to don his white robes and flit around the beds, soaking up every tiny bit of information he can get his hands on.

Unsurprisingly, Isis never misses his Medical class, as they all decide to call them. She is always waiting for him outside the hospital wing at the end of the day and not only does she make Harry feel calm and grounded but the students tell him that Isis has the same effect on them too. Harry had thought that having a snake slithering over your bed when you’re trying to recover from a quidditch injury, or a bout of exploding pimples, would frighten the students but every single one had told Harry that having Isis around had calmed them and made them feel a comforting warmth spreading through them.

The closer they all get to their N.E.W.T’s, the harder the workload gets and Harry quickly finds that his extra curricular brewing lessons with Snape really begin to come in handy. He gets permission from Snape and Pomfrey to distribute his own Pepperup and dreamless sleep potions, carefully monitored of course by both professors and Poppy tells Harry that he and the others had become invaluable. Hogwarts had never before allowed students to help out at the hospital wing, presumably they had always assumed the workload would prove to be too much for students studying their N.E.W.T’s at the same time but Harry’s school year was a unique one. They’d fought and survived a gruelling war, they were already adults even if they were still trapped in the bodies of teenagers. Besides, none of them should really be here this year, if it hadn’t been for Voldemort they’d all have already passed their N.E.W.T’s and be out there starting their careers. They were already all at a disadvantage because not only was Harry’s year sitting their final wizarding exams but the entire Seventh year would be taking them too. That meant that they had even more students than usual to compete against for jobs when the year was over, at least this way, being able to help out and get a little more hands on experience in their chosen fields would balance the tables a little in their favour.

The atmosphere in the common room the week before the exams is subdued but with an almost electric undercurrent of desperation and panic. Hardly anybody speaks in the evenings now, there are piles and piles of books on almost every table and the only sounds to be heard are the crackles and pops of the fire, the frantic scratching of quills and the infrequent shrieks of frustration from Neville from across the room.

Seamus angrily suggests a drinking game at around half past eleven the night before their first exam, one where they all take a shot of firewhiskey every time Neville screws up his parchment and a double shot every time he wails in frustration. Hermione is _not_ impressed with that suggestion and with a look that Harry is pretty sure would make Voldemort shit himself, she rather terrifyingly points out exactly where Seamus can shove his firewhiskey. Harry and Ron stare at her with open mouths as she primly settles back into the chair she’d commandeered as her own and starts writing at a frantic pace. Harry glances at Ron and cringes. The look on his friend’s face is one of awe and something that Harry is pretty sure means that Ron would be pouncing on Hermione right now if they weren’t sitting in a room full of students and maybe if he weren’t too frightened of getting his hands ripped off for disturbing her studies.

Everyone’s on edge and by the time midnight rolls around Harry has started to feel a little bit sick at the thought of their first exam the very next morning. What he’d really like to do is hop on his broom and fly a few laps around the castle to take his mind off things, or maybe corner Malfoy in the transfiguration department and blow some steam off that way but he won’t do either. Malfoy and he have barely even spoken in the last week, let alone found the time to do anything even remotely close to having sex. The most contact they’ve had is a hasty snog one morning in the bathroom before Ernie Macmillan had stormed in and proceeded to throw up in one of the toilets, throwing Harry into healer mode and spoiling the mood.

Harry’s stomach rolls at the thought of his transfiguration exam in the morning and his eyes feel like lead weights even though he’d self administered another dose of Pepperup potion after dinner tonight. So when Hermione announces that she’s heading to bed, Harry quickly follows suit, trailed by Ron and Neville and as he sits on the edge of his bed and waits for Isis to wake up and move over, he hears the sounds of the rest of their year packing up their books and heading for their own bed.

Despite the fact that Harry had stared at the twinkling constellations shining across his canopy for hours until he’d finally given in and dosed himself with a mild sleeping potion last night, he’s pretty sure he’s just walked out of his Transfiguration exam with at least an Exceeds Expectations under his belt. Not even Hermione’s usually irritating habit of going over and over every mistake she thinks she’s made on her exam can stop the frankly manic grin that spreads over his face. Harry manages to tune her out and settles with walking a few paces behind her as they take a stroll around the edge of the lake.

“Please Mione, give it a rest, alright?” Ron finally snaps at her as they settle down at the water’s edge. Hermione looks frantic, her fingers twisting obsessively around one another while Ron picks at the grass beside him. Harry thinks he’ll offer her a calming draft tonight, Snape had had him brew another batch especially for this week. “I can’t take it if you’re gonna go over every exam like you did after our O.W.L’s." 

Ron scowls at her but reaches out and takes one of her hands anyway, cradling it gently in his own. Harry feels a sudden surge of jealousy at that. He wishes he could do the same with Malfoy but they don’t have that sort of relationship and it leaves Harry feeling an odd sort of loneliness. The last time Harry had sat beside this lake he had been with Ginny, at the time it’d felt right, easy, to be with her. At the time he’d imagined they would get married and he’d have with her what Ron and Hermione have but now, after having Malfoy, he knows whatever Ginny and him had wasn’t real.

 They stay there in silence until the sun dips behind the tree line and the temperature drops rapidly. The giant squid sloshes around in the water before them and Harry hears the soft sound of Hermione’s steady breathing. She’d fallen asleep curled up to Ron’s side.

“C’mon, bed” Ron nudges her awake gently. Hermione tries to argue, telling them both they have to study, they have Charms the next day but Ron, quite rightly puts his foot down and tells her that she’s having a sleep potion tonight. They both know Hermione is about to pull out Outstandings across the board and no one wants to deal with an overtired, stressed out Hermione tonight.

The week follows in a blur of cramming, brewing and finding empty classrooms to practice in. Harry wishes the room of requirement were still functioning, he thinks it would have done everyone good to pile in there and practice their spell work. 

Unlike with his O.W.L’s Harry is pretty confident that he’s managed to secure the required grades in all his N.E.W.T’s to be accepted into St. Mungo’s training scheme. His Charms work had been some of the best he’d ever performed, Transfiguration had been hard, yes but still Harry feels ok about it. Defense had been, well, easy really considering what he had learnt when on the run from the Death Eaters and the only exam Harry has left to sit is Potions.

It’s not until the night before their Potions exam that Malfoy finally comes to find Harry without his usual arm full of books or the permanent scowl etched across his face. Harry was just walking back from a one final stint in the hospital wing where Snape had joined him and insisted on making him recite the correct instructions of a multitude of Potions, when Malfoy corners him and asks Harry to meet him in the North Tower half an hour before curfew. Harry agrees, leaning in to steal a kiss that leaves them both red faced and breathless before heading back to the common room alone to pack up his things. They’re due to leave the morning after tomorrow and Harry has no doubt that tonight will be a long night fuelled by firewhiskey, drinking games and a lot of snogging in corners, leaving no time to pack.

When Harry finally manages to slip away unnoticed between the laughing and cheering of his fellow students that night, he’s already feeling warm and fuzzy from the few drinks Dean had urged on him. They had done it, they were no longer N.E.W.T students. The only thing left for them all was to go home, wait for their results and head out into the world as adults. Harry can understand why everyone is celebrating tonight but his joy is a sort of muted feeling deep in his chest. Hogwarts has been his home for so long now that the prospect of never returning fills him with sadness.

He walks at a quick pace through the castle towards the North Tower as his mind races over what might happen in the next few weeks. He’s been invited back to The Burrow for a while, the entire summer if he wants, but he hasn’t made a decision on that just yet. There’s number 12 for him to go back to and Harry hopes that Kreacher has managed to follow orders and clean the place up a little bit before he returns. Harry isn’t sure whether Hermione will come back to live with him again, or whether Ron will finally move his things in too. He’ll ask them in the morning before they all leave. Harry walks almost in a trance, the soft pattering of his feet slapping against the stone floor settles into a steady rhythm and before he knows it he’s climbing the winding staircase up to the North Tower where he can see a soft blue glow seeping out through one of the doors at the top of the stairs. It gets brighter the closer he gets and Harry knows that that is where he’ll find Malfoy waiting for him.

When Harry pushes the door open softly, he finds Draco sat on one of the long, low window benches looking out onto the dark lake. His white blonde hair looks luminescent in the moonlight and his skin looks cold and pale even though Harry knows it feels warm underneath his fingers. Malfoy is wearing a soft grey shirt with a rounded collar that almost looks oriental and the same dark woolen trousers he always wears. Draco’s feet are bare and his toes flex against the dark wood of the bench where his knees are drawn up, his arms wrapped protectively around them. It reminds Harry of that night he’d found Malfoy after the Final Battle and he clears his throat. Draco doesn’t turn to look at him, just shifts slightly, dropping his legs to give Harry enough room to sit beside him.

Malfoy still doesn’t look at Harry, just stares out of the window into the night. Harry follows his gaze, watches the moon light glitter off the gentle waves across the surface of the lake and waits. Malfoy called him up here for a reason and if he’s learnt anything about getting Draco to talk over the last few months it’s that silence works in getting Malfoy to open up.

“This time tomorrow I’ll be back at the Manor,” Draco finally says, still not look at Harry. His voice is quiet but cold, like steele and his words clipped and careful.

“Don’t you want to go back?” Harry asks. He reaches inside his pocket for his wand as he speaks and casts a well-practiced warming charm to counter the chill up here. Malfoy shrugs one shoulder, his mouth twitches. “Will your mother be there again?” Harry adds. 

“Yes. She sent me an owl earlier this week requesting my presence following our exams. I’m expected to return tomorrow.” Draco turns to Harry then and his features are like ice. Harry doesn’t like it.  

“You don’t want to go.” Harry says, it’s not a question, he can tell Draco doesn’t want to go back to the Manor, he can see it in the stiff set of his shoulders, the ramrod straight spine and the way his knuckles are pinched and white against the window ledge. 

“No.” Draco says after a few moments of silence.

“I’m not sure I’d want to go back either if I was you to be honest. I always hated going back to my Aunt and Uncle’s house each summer.” Harry says quietly. He’s not really all that sure returning to number 12 will be any better this time around but it’s the only place left he can sort of call home. 

“Tell me, about the muggles?” Malfoy says, turning back to the glittering lake. Harry takes a steadying breath and tells Draco all about life with the Dursleys. He talks about living in the cupboard until his Hogwarts letter arrived, about how Hagrid had chased them halfway across the country to find them and how he’d given Dudley a pig’s tail. Harry speaks about not knowing he was a wizard, about doing the chores and having Dudley’s gang after him constantly. He talks until Malfoy has shifted closer to him, until Malfoy’s hand brushes against his own.   

“And Dumbledore made you return each year? Surely there would have been plenty of other wizarding families he could have placed you with to save you from the muggles?” Draco finally says.

“Well yeah, I mean I know Molly, that’s Ron’s mum, she wanted me to come and live with them but,” Harry pauses and looks out into the night for a moment, watching the star light glitter off the gentle waves across the lake. How much does Malfoy already know? How much can Harry tell him? “When Voldemort came for me as a baby, he’d already killed my Dad but my Mum, she tried to stop him coming for me. Dumbledore said it was old magic, a protective spell weaved into the family bloodline by her sacrifice and because of that Voldemort couldn’t touch me while I lived with my Aunt.”

“I didn’t know that, about your Mother,” Malfoy says quietly.

“It’s what I hear when there are Dementors around, her voice telling Voldemort not to kill me, begging…” Harry lets the sentence trail off, he hasn’t heard his Mother’s screaming in such a long time now, he wonders whether he still would if faced with a Dementor again, after having her come to him in the forest that night.

“I don’t know if Mother would have ever done the same thing for me,” Malfoy adds after another moment of pregnant silence. “After all she did allow the Dark Lord to move into the Manor and use me as a weapon. 

“She would have.” Harry says forcefully. “I know she would have. Draco, she defied _Voldemort_ for you. She pretended I was dead that night so that she could come and find you. She knew I was alive and the only way she’d be able to look for you is if Voldemort thought I was dead, if he had realised that she lied…” Harry can picture it, the wrath that Voldemort would have rained down on the Malfoys if he had known that Narcissa had lied. She wouldn’t have survived the night

“She never spoke about it you know, never told me what happened that night. In fact she hasn’t uttered a word about the war at all since the final battle.” Malfoy says, still studying Harry’s face as though his green eyes and shadow dappled skin has all the answers he’s looking for. 

“Molly and Arthur don’t talk about the war either, I guess some people just want to forget.” Harry adds, turning back to face Draco again and resting a hand on his thigh with a gentle squeeze. 

“I want to forget,” Malfoy says, leaning into Harry’s body heat with half closed eyelids. Harry can see the soft lavender shade of his lids even in the half light and has the urge to run his fingertips across them both. Harry’s hit with the sudden realisation that these sorts of feelings aren’t usual for a boy his age just shagging around with someone. It scares Harry how Malfoy stirs all these feelings up in him, how he finds himself thinking about Draco all the time these days and starts to wonder why, why Draco? Why him? How did they go from two boys who hated each other and went out of their way to hurt each other to people who hooked up to blow off steam to….this? Harry wonders whether Malfoy feels the same way, he thinks _maybe_.  

He can’t imagine Draco sitting and talking about these sorts of things with anyone else really but he’s not sure whether that’s because Harry knows more about what he’s been through than anyone else or whether it’s something more. Harry would like to be able to ask, the question dances on the tip of his tongue but he’s too scared to find out the answer.

“You help me forget,” Draco whispers, leaning in further and gently brushing his lips across Harry’s jawline. “Every time I’m with you I can pretend,” His breath whispers along Harry’s skin and makes his eyelids flutter and his fingers start to rub little patterns into Malfoy’s thigh where he’s still holding on. “I can pretend that we were always friends,” Malfoy’s hands move to Harry’s shoulders and run down the length of his arms, his mouth moves and his nose brushes against Harry’s earlobe, nudging him gently so that Harry has to tilt his head to give him more room. “I pretend that we always liked each other, that you wanted me all this time, that we just fell into each other as natural as the sunrise,” His hands fall onto Harry’s waist then and tug him around so that their bodies line up and Malfoy has to lean forward to reach the achingly sensitive parts of Harry’s neck. And Harry feels like a bag of nerves because Draco has never spoken to him like this before, soft and gentle and honest. Every time they’ve been together it’s been frantic and wild with crackling magic and racing heartbeats. This feels different. This feels important. 

There’s no sarcasm in Draco’s tone, no dry humour or unrelenting garbs hidden within his words this time. Harry feels a little stunned at how soft Draco’s face looks, younger even. Like that night he’d found Malfoy sitting _crying_ outside the Room of Requirement and for a moment he’s transported back there with him. Harry remembers watching Malfoy, feeling something other than the blind hatred that Malfoy usually stirred in him.  

He remembers how he’d felt hot and flushed with sweaty palms and a nervous coil in his stomach even as he’d held Draco at wandpoint and realises that even then Harry had feelings for him. The thought terrifies Harry a little bit and he’s suddenly wondering exactly how much of their six years of arguing and baiting each other had actually been hate and how much had maybe been a little bit of attraction? Draco had already admitted to Harry at the beginning of _this_ that he’d fantasised about Harry before but he, Harry had been too busy fighting for his life all those years and being convinced he was totally straight to really think about Malfoy like that before now.

Draco stands, breaking his grip on Harry and leaving him slightly breathless with foggy glasses and a thrumming heartbeat. Harry watches as Malfoy scans the room for a moment, just when he opens his mouth to ask Draco what he’s doing and why he’d stopped, Malfoy points his wand at one of the window seats and begins muttering a long and complicated incantation. Harry watches, mesmerized at the way Malfoy wields his wand, the movements of his hands and wrists are almost sensual as is the way Draco’s body dances with the words and rhythm of his spell. Before Harry’s eyes, the old wooden bench contorts and shimmies into a bed covered with white cotton sheets and more pillows than Harry has ever slept on at any one time. Malfoy lets the incantation drop, his words becoming softer and quieter as the bed settles before he turns and wards the door shut with a quick flick of his wand.

“I thought we ought to try this on a bed sometime,” Draco says, turning to Harry with a rather forced look of nonchalance on his face. He holds hand out, which Harry takes, expecting to be pulled in and ravished as is Malfoy’s usual style. But, as Harry stands and walks closer, the ravishing he’s expecting never happens. Malfoy’s hands skim over Harry’s hips, his ribs, around his back and across his shoulders lightly, reverently even. His lips pluck against Harry’s own, across his jaw and down his throat tenderly as if Draco is scared to touch Harry too roughly and frighten him away or break him. Malfoy’s fingers dip underneath Harry’s soft grey t-shirt and lift it slowly over his head, dropping it onto the floor. 

His palms trace the lines of Harry’s body, cupping what muscles Harry does have and mapping out the invisible lines of his bones and tendons hidden underneath his skin. 

Malfoy’s mouth never stops moving, only leaves Harry’s skin for a second at a time to move to another spot, his collarbones, his Adam’s apple, down across his chest to a nipple. Harry feels ruined already. It’s not enough that they’ve opened up to each other tonight more than any, now Harry feels like Draco is taking him apart, peeling his skin back and running his fingers over Harry’s exposed nerve endings.

Draco pulls Harry backwards by his hips and gently turns him, pressing his palms to Harry’s chest and forcing him onto the bed. Draco follows, carefully working off the rest of Harry’s clothes in silence and Harry’s throat feels tight and closed off. He wants to speak, to tell Malfoy how amazing it feels and how he wants to be able to do this, properly on a bed more often. But his body refuses to play along and the noise that escapes his contracted throat is no more than a soft whimper when Malfoy’s hands caress the skin along his inner thighs and up across his hip bones. 

“Draco, what?” Harry manages breathlessly, he doesn’t understand what Draco is doing, why he’s being so cautious tonight.

“Shut up Potter, let me have this,” Draco whispers as he mouths along the adolescent trail of hair running from Harry’s prick and up towards his navel. Harry closes his eyes and lets his head drop back onto one of the perfectly stuffed, feather down pillows at the head of the bed when Draco’s hands skim up his sides and his thumbs pass over both of Harry’s nipples. They harden almost instantly underneath the soft pads of Malfoy’s fingers and goosebumps spread like fiendfyre across Harry’s skin as Malfoy scratches them lightly with his thumbnails. Draco’s mouth is hot and wet against Harry’s stomach and every time Malfoy’s lips press into the dips of Harry’s hip bones, he can feel the thin skin along Malfoy’s throat brush along his prick as he switches from one side to the other. 

Malfoy’s hands run back down Harry’s sides, skimming down over his hips and wrap around his thighs and the image of Draco manipulating magic in a sensual dance plays against the inside of Harry’s eyelids as he sinks into the feel of Malfoy’s hand on his skin. Harry groans when Draco passes over his hard and leaking prick without touching it, just the feel of warm breath ghosting over his stretched foreskin is enough to make Harry twitch and throb with unconcealed want but instead of touching, Malfoy just slides himself up the length of Harry’s body and holds himself inches above Harry’s face to look down at him.

Harry opens his eyes when he feels Draco’s heavy gaze watching him and when he does, all he sees is deep silvery wells, the starlight from the windows above them reflected in Draco’s pupils creating glittery depths that remind him of one of the rooms in the Department of Mysteries. Harry reaches up and tugs at Malfoy’s shoulders, pulling him down so that the entire length of Draco’s body lays heavily across his own. Their lips connect and it’s not the frantic crash of hunger that spurns them on tonight, more like a gentle, exploratory caress. It’s almost as though they are kissing for the very first time, the way their lips touch softly and their tongues brush against each other.

Harry can feel his brow crease into a little furrow but he’s not about to push Draco away when this is obviously something he needs right now. Instead, Harry traces the lines of Draco’s shoulders, runs his fingers down the dip between the blades and over each knob of Draco’s shirt covered spine, one at a time. He brushes his fingertips up and over the smooth shape of Draco’s wool coated arse and pushes his hands underneath the stiff waist band to press his thumbs into the convex dimples on his lower back. Draco rolls his hips when Harry presses into them harder and spreads his fingers out, his palms almost spanning the entire width of Draco’s narrow, lithe hips as they roll against him.

Malfoy’s mouth leaves Harry’s then and he pulls back, sitting up on his heels with his knees wedged between Harry’s legs. Harry watches with hungry eyes as Draco slowly begins to peel back the folds of his shirt, each expensive button slipping out of it’s own hole and revealing inch by inch of pale skin. Harry reaches his hands up and tucks them behind his head to support his neck as he watches as the scars along Draco’s torso come into view, the little sporadic clusters of light freckles and moles dotted around here and there look black in the dim light. They almost look like dark constellations and Harry is tempted to trace each one with his thumbs, to study them like charting the stars during an Astronomy lesson. But Draco’s shirt is falling from his shoulders, pooling at his elbows and Harry’s gaze is captured by delicate wrists with rich blue veins just under the skin rotating as Draco pulls the shirt off and drops it beside him. 

Harry unfolds his arms and reaches out to run his palms across the scar tissue layered along Draco’s chest and Draco leans into the touch. The skin feels like velvet with smooth satin stripes under Harry’s skin and he arches his own back off the bed so that his hands can reach higher. They graze over Draco’s pert pink nipples, over the bones of his clavicle and Harry cups the long column of Draco’s throat in his hands. The very tips of Harry’s fingers brush the base of Draco’s close cropped hairline and Harry can feel the heavy thrumming of his racing pulse under the porcelain skin.

When Draco moves off Harry’s lap and stands, Harry folds his arms underneath his head once more and watches eagerly as Malfoy slowly peels the tight fitting wool trousers from his legs, leaving him standing tall and pale in just a pair of perfectly fitted black briefs. They’re cut hgh around Draco’s hips, making his legs look even longer. The waistband is a steel grey which, combined with the rich matte black of the briefs, makes Draco’s skin even more luminous in the darkness.

Harry only has a few moments to admire the view in front of him before Malfoy settles down on the bed between Harry’s legs and Noses at Harry’s hip. Harry untucks a hand and carefully cards his fingers through the silky soft blonde hair that’s fallen loose from Draco’s usually pristine quiff. He pushes the loose strands back as Draco’s mouth moves to Harry’s cock, his lips brushing lightly over it before his mouth closes over the head. Harry clenches his fingers in Draco’s hair them which earns him a warning growl that vibrates against Harry’s prick and makes him groan. But when Harry looks down, Malfoy is scowling at him with a mouth full of cock. It’s such a ridiculous look, Malfoy’s lips spread wide whilst his eyes make a valiant attempt at scolding Harry that Harry tries hard not to laugh and ends up choking on the sound which pushes his heavy prick even further into Malfoy’s mouth.

Malfoy holds a hand out and his wand flies through the air and lands in his palm without Draco even breaking the incredible suction around Harry’s cock. Malfoy waves a complicated movement with one hand, his eyes closed and brow knitted in concentration and Harry feels that cold, tingly rush of the cleaning charm that always lights a fire inside him. But then, unexpectedly, Harry feels something wet trickling between his cheeks and he tries to pull back from Draco’s mouth. Harry tries to push his hand down between his legs to feel but Draco stops him by wrapping his long bony fingers around Harry’s wrist.

“Greasing charm,” Malfoy says after releasing Harry’s prick from his lips. “Use in emergency wand and broom care but frightfully handy for fucking when you’re in a pinch.” He adds. “Here,” Draco says, pulling Harry’s hand down and manipulating Harry’s fingers so they brush against this clean and slick hole.

The slippery oil isn’t like anything they’ve used before, it feels thicker and there’s an odd sort of smell to it that leans more towards off putting than arousing. Harry toys with the rim of his entrance, just feeling the odd oil, the spell seemed easy but with that odd smell to it Harry knows why it’s only used as emergency lube.

Draco sits back on his heels between Harry’s legs, just watching as Harry’s fingers dance over himself and he lets out a low whine that Harry is pretty sure Draco would never admit to ever making. Harry smirks. He draws his knees up and lets his legs spread a touch wider than strictly comfortable with a wicked grin at just how wrecked Draco already looks. Harry spreads two of his fingers around his hole, framing the wrinkled bud and showing it off just for Malfoy’s hungry eyes. Harry’s sure he should feel embarrassed, shameless even, but the incredible look of utter awe on Draco’s face as he watches burns Harry and makes him feel reckless.

“Merlin Potter, put one inside.” Draco rasps suddenly, eyes dark, heavy and reflecting moonlight. “I never even thought…” Malfoy mumbles as Harry slips a finger inside, feeling the stretch of his arse and the tight pressure around his own finger. 

As Harry works his fingers into himself slowly, Draco moves to pull of his briefs before settling so close to Harry’s hand he can probably see every twitch and turn of Harry’s fingers as he slowly fucks himself on them. When Draco pushes one of his own digits in alongside Harry’s two, Harry moans and his head hits the pillow again. He gazes up at the ceiling with glazed and heat-saturated eyes and can see little tendrils of silvery magic curling up from the bed and sparkling around the window frame. He grins at the sight of his magic losing control around Draco again and wonders whether he’ll ever be able to control it when Malfoy’s inside him. They work together slowly to open Harry up until his prick is heavy and leaking a constant stream of precome onto his belly and his cheeks burn red hot with how much he needs to feel Draco inside.  

“Enough,” Harry mutters, pulling his fingers free. His arse clenches tight around Draco’s solitary finger left still buried to the knuckle inside as it twists and turns, stroking his walls and trying desperately to reach out and touch Harry’s prostate. Draco nods, a quick, precise jerk of his head as he pulls free and moves to loom over Harry. The soft, spongy head of Draco’s pink and leaking cock presses against Harry’s hole and Harry takes a steadying breath which morphs into a needy groan when Maloy uses his hand to rub his cock over Harry’s arse in tight circles. It catches on his rim twice before Draco carefully pushes the first two inches inside.

Draco moves so slowly that by the time he eventually starts rolling his hips, Harry feels close enough to the edge that he has to wrap a slicked up hand around himself and grip tight around the base of his cock to stop himself from coming too quickly. He can’t even look at Malfoy for fear of pushing himself over that knife edge as Draco’s cock drags deep inside him, brushing over his prostate and pulling at his rim on the way out. Harry’s eyes focus instead on the growing spirals of magic creeping across the wall behind him, he watches as the silvery tendrils writhe and sparkle as they spread up and out across the ceiling.

Draco is muttering as he fucks Harry carefully, pushing in deep before pulling out almost entirely. It feels tender, loving almost, and the blood is rushing in Harry’s ears so loudly that he struggles to make out exactly what the words are that are spilling from Malfoy’s mouth in a garbled rush.

It’s over far too soon, in no time at all Draco’s hands are clutching at Harry’s hips and he’s stuttering wildly. Harry drinks in the beautiful picture Draco makes above him as he starts to frantically work his cock in tight shallow strokes. Harry twists his hand around the tip of his prick with his fingers clenched tight in a death grip as he hurries to catch up with Malfoy’s oncoming orgasm. Malfoy who’s biting his lower lip and digging his fingernails into Harry’s skin as he desperately tries to hold on, to wait for Harry so they can go over that edge together.

It works, Harry moves his hips, frantically fucking into his fist and onto Draco’s cock, moaning loud enough to hear the echos of it throughout the stone staircase leading to the bottom of the tower. Draco quietens Harry by kissing him desperately and thrusting his tongue into Harry’s mouth as they both begin to jerk and convulse. Harry comes so hard he can feel some of it hit the base of his throat, it makes Draco thrust in surprise which brings on his own body wracking orgasm.

Malfoy drops heavily onto Harry’s stomach, pressing Harry’s come into both their skin as their bodies clench and heave. For the first time since they started, whatever this is, Draco doesn’t automatically merge back into his ‘Malfoy persona’. He lets Harry hold him, lets Harry stroke patterns into his skin and lay kisses over his neck and jawline.

It feels like hours they’ve been up here alone and Harry knows they should get back but for some reason he doesn’t want to let Draco go. Harry wants to stay here tangled up together in a soft bed and pretend the world isn’t still turning out there without them.

“I need food, Potter,” Draco complains when he tries to move and Harry just holds him closer.

“Gamp’s Law,” Harry mutters sleepily and he feels the juddering of Malfoy’s soft chuckles against him. 

“Exactly, now let me off you brute or I’ll scream for help,” Draco says with a soft hint of laughter still in his voice. 

They dress slowly and walk back to the common room even more slowly. Harry’s footsteps feel weighed down by Draco’s uncharacteristic silence and the tight curl of his shoulders as they move through the dark, quiet hallways. They’re going home tomorrow and Harry knows now that this had been their last time together. Draco had been saying goodbye with all the tender touches and slow, loving moments. He’d been taking his fill, that one last time and the thought of it makes Harry feel sick as they approach the heavy door leading to their rooms. Before Harry can bring himself to tap out the tune on the brickwork, he turns and pins Draco to the wall.

Harry kisses Draco for a few long, drawn out minutes, trying to say things like; _thank you, i’ll miss you_ and _I never knew it could be like this with anyone._ They both sigh when they break away to simply rest their foreheads together. Draco’s hands rub up and down Harry’s arms soothingly but his grey eyes are closed and hidden behind lavender eyelids once more. Harry just pulls Draco closer until his face is buried in the soft, sharp scent of Malfoy’s neck before stepping back and raising his wand to the door.

“Thank you, Harry,” Draco says as the door swings wide, robbing Harry of the chance to say anything back as they’re pulled into hugs and surrounded by cheers. The entire eighth year is celebrating, loudly. They’re all N.E.W.T graduates now, all of them officially adults off to face the Wizarding World.

As Harry sits cradling a glass of spitting, spelled purple firewhiskey with Isis curled up into a tight ball by his side and his eyes trained on Malfoy as he throws himself into the celebrations with the rest of their housemates, Harry can’t help but wonder how long it will be before he sees Draco again after tonight.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so that ending probably isn't the one you were banking on right? Well, as I say there is an Epilogue so don't come looking for me with pitchforks and stunning spells just yet!


	7. The Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Epilogue! 
> 
> Set two years after chapter six, Harry is in the middle of his Mediwizard training and Draco is.....well.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it folks! Done, Diddly-done-done.
> 
> Here's the epilogue for you all. Thank you to everyone who's clicked on this and read it all the way through, whether you're reading it now, as I'm posting or whether you're reading this in the future when it's already complete. Thanks for your comments and kudos, subscriptions and bookmarks - they really do mean a lot!
> 
> Thank you eternally to 1lostone for beta'ing this entire thing for me even though it was just supposed to be a tiny little thing. Especially for all your help during the epilogue which really wouldn't have been what it is without your input and helpful shoves in the right direction. 
> 
> Thank you Marooncamaro for loving this gift to you, for always commenting and pretty much holding my hand throughout me writing this.

Mondays are the _worst_.

Everyone says it, there’s something about having two whole days off work that makes Monday a difficult pill to swallow and everyone seems to hate the idea of getting up early again after a couple of lie ins.

Not for Harry Potter; Trainee Mediwizard and top of his cohort anyway. For Harry, the worst day of the week is always, without fail a Wednesday. Hump day, people call it but Harry can think of a few more colourful names for it that would get him thrown off the wards in an instant with a stinging hex burning his arse courtesy of Matron White. Jemima White is the head medical witch in St Mungo’s ward for spell damage and Harry has been working under her now for three _long_ months. She reminds Harry a little bit of Hagrid actually. No she’s not a half giant with an excess amount of hair and a penchant for terrifying pets but, like Hagrid, when it comes to her resident trainees she often pushes the boundaries between professional and, well, really unprofessional. Harry actually really likes her. He’s terrified of her sure, but he likes her.

The best and maybe the worst thing about White is that, as she frequently likes to point out; she doesn’t give a crap whether he’s _Harry Potter The-Boy-Who-Lived_ or if he’s still hailed _The Saviour of the Wizarding World_ , if Harry doesn’t get his charts filled in and filed on time she’ll strip the skin off his arse with a stinging hex and curse his balls into cacti.

Harry is _fairly_ sure she wouldn’t actually go through with her threats but he rushes to file his charts on time anyway, despite the overwhelming exhaustion pulling at him because he never, ever wants to find out either way.

Harry slips his last bit of paperwork into the patient's chart sleeve, an underage witch who’d sprouted a little mushroom field across her back thanks to her older brother and a volatile game of gobstones. As soon as the sleeve glows blue, which means it’s been completed and submitted to records, Harry takes off for The Black Room at a run before he gets dragged onto another case. They call it ‘The Black Room’ not for it’s colour, which, actually happens to be a faintly horrifying shade of yellow but because when someone gets a bad case, when they lose a patient this is always where the Healers come to sit and grieve for a few moments before heading back onto the floor for the next case.

Harry pushes the door open and heads straight for his own locker, spelling it open with a quick swish of his hand and pulling out his Dragon hide boots, a spare pair of socks and Siris’ old leather jacket that Harry had recently claimed as his own after finding Kreacher trying to toss it out with the mouldy old wallpaper back at Number 12. He sits himself down on one of the long wooden benches layered with cushioning spells that run the length of the room and he massages his feet and ankles when he pulls off the standard issue white trainers all healers are required to wear. He’s just about to pull his boots on when the door crashes open and Stevens and Griffin practically fall into the room, their limbs tangling up with one another in a blue of bright blue and sunshine yellow robes.

The two straighten up and lean heavily against the wall, panting in quick shallow breaths. Harry grins at them both and laughs when Stevens flings himself down onto the bench beside Harry and stretches his neck backwards to grin at Harry through shaggy blonde hair that had started off perfectly groomed this morning but now looks limp, windswept and sticks up in all different directions. Stevens is pretty much the only person Harry has met with hair more difficult to keep tidy than his own.

“Wednesdays.” Stevens says simply like it needs no other explanation. Harry nods and pats Stevens’ unruly hair twice in acknowledgement. He’s not the only one who hates Wednesdays; it’s one of the things Stevens and he had bonded over at the beginning of their training a little over a year ago.

“I had three cases of exploding boils today, _three_ for fucks sake!” Griffin whimpers as she begins rummaging around in her own locker across the room. “Next time I’m in Diagon I’m giving Weasley a piece of my mind ya know? That bloody bastard.” She waves her wand threateningly at Harry as if somehow he’s responsible for her having a shit shift and he holds his hands up in defense.

“You’ll not stop George selling the snack boxes,” Harry chuckles. “They’re too bloody popular.”

“Then next time _you_ see that ginger arsehole you bloody well tell him alright?” Griffin pokes her wand at Harry again before turning back to her locker and pulling out a pair of black and white strappy heels. “Or I’ll hex your fucking dick so it shrivels up the next time you fancy a shag.” She turns to glare at Harry over her shoulder and he quickly covers up his crotch with both hands and feigns a look of absolute horror which gets both Griffin and Stevens roaring with laughter.

That’s something else that Harry quickly learnt during his training, laughter is important. Sometimes working the wards can be horrible and some shifts stay with you even after you’re back home, especially when you’re back home, alone only with your thoughts. Laughter helps chase the demons away and that’s why Harry and the rest of the trainees always make a point of cracking jokes and arranging pub nights to blow off steam at the end of a long week.

“Hey did Granger catch up with you Harry?” Stevens asks as he peels himself off the bench and heads for his own locker.

“Hermione’s here?” Harry says, yanking his boots on quickly and pulling his robes off to shove in the robes bin for the laundry crew to deal with later.

“Saw her down on Artifacts with a couple of cursebreakers,” Stevens shrugs and runs a hand through his hair trying to flatten it down.

“More hopeless than mine mate,” Harry chuckles, swings his jacket over his shoulders and shoves his arms into the sleeves. The smell of worn leather and a hint of dust, no doubt from Number 12, hits Harry as he yanks the door open. “See you two tomorrow, hey thanks for the heads up!” He calls to Stevens as he takes off to find Hermione.

“Harry!” Harry’s just stepping out of the lift on the ground floor when he hears Hermione call out to him. She’s in her usual close fitting midnight blue robes, double breasted with gold fastenings. They’re cut in the unique style of the Unspeakables, short at the front around the hips but the tail on the back reaches the backs of her knees. Harry guesses they’re cut that way for easy of mobility, God only knows what they get up to down in the Department of Mysteries. After his little foray down there in Fifth year he has no wish to delve too far into what they do.

“Have you got your robes ready? _Please_ tell me they’re ready Harry, it’s enough that I have to sort Ron out without having to chase around after you too.” Hermione kisses him on both cheeks and gives his shoulders a gentle squeeze before pulling back to hold him at arm's length so she can look at him in that way she does.

“ _Hi Harry, how’s your day going? Hey, do you fancy grabbing a coffee with me_?” Harry mimics Hermione’s voice and grins when her face changes from that ‘mother hen’ serious to a soft smile.

“Yes, _yes_ , alright.” Hermione says with a mildly exasperated look. “Hi Harry, how was your day? I’ve not got time for coffee though, sorry.” She wrinkles her nose in apology. “I’m technically still at work, now, tell me you have your robes ready?” She grimaces at Harry as she speaks and Harry feels sorry for her, even if she’s mothering him again.

“Margot and Mila are flooing them through tomorrow,” Harry pats her hand reassuringly as he speaks and watches Hermione immediately relax. “Apparently they had some crazed witch bombarding them with owls over it for the last few weeks. Really Hermione, I said I’d be there and I wouldn’t let you down, now would I?”

Hermione straightens up and raises an eyebrow at him so far it almost connects with her hairline. “Let’s not go there shall we? Are you bringing a date?” She asks, her tone both sly and hopeful at the same time. Hermione had cajoled him into attending another fundraising event for one of the many charities she’s on the board for. Normally he manages to find some excuse not to come, work, vacation, losing a leg; that sort of thing (not that he ever _has_ lost a leg but he did try to use it as an excuse once), but this time it’s for St. Mungo’s and Hermione _insisted_ it would pull more donations if he were to go. Ron will be there at least, plus a few of his cohort have said they’re going and Hermione will undoubtedly be busy working the room. Harry’s just hoping that Ron and he can slink off and prop up the bar, unnoticed for most of the night.  

“No, no date Mione,” Harry sighs he can’t think of anything worse than turning up to some function or other with a date on his arm. There’s bound to be reporters there, and Harry would be forced to put up with weeks of his fellow trainees quoting the articles that would be sure to come about if he was spotted with someone on his arm.

 _Harry Potter’s mystery date! Has The Boy Who Lived finally found_ his _Saviour?_

 _Yeah_ , Harry’s had enough of his life splattered across the pages of The Prophet for one lifetime thanks. It’s bad enough that they dissected his career choice when he got his N.E.W.T results, there had been a four page spread on what role in the Wizarding World The-Boy-Who-Lived-Twice would choose. They’d even done a bloody interactive owl order poll on whether he’d end up an Auror or a Teacher at Hogwarts. Still, nothing was as bad as the manipulated photos of him posing as a model. Harry represses a shudder at the thought. He’d stopped reading the papers not long after that and now relies on Ron and Hermione to give him the run down on anything they catch in the news.

“Don’t start okay? Anyway if I bring a date, who’ll keep Ron from getting rat-arsed while you woo all the guests into handing over the big cheques huh?” That seems to pacify her a little because she smiles, though there’s still a sly hint to the soft stretch of her lips.

“You’ll be over at eight yes? Good, don’t forget you’ve got a haircut at five and for goodness sake Harry don’t forget to shave this time!” Hermione scowls at the little scruff Harry has been lovingly cultivating over the past month or so like she’s personally offended by it. Ron had been green with envy when Harry had popped over one night sporting the start of a rather manly beard. _He’d_ only managed a few wispy hairs and all of them bright ginger before Hermione had threatened to shave him herself if he didn’t get rid of it right away.

“Why’re you down here anyway ‘Mione?” Harry asks in a desperate attempt to stave off any further nagging but before she can answer one of the healers approaches and Hermione turns to face him, her face pinched with worry all of a sudden.

“Miss Granger, if you’ll come with me please?” The healer turns and holds an arm out towards the ward and Hermione nods before turning back to Harry.

“Sorry Harry, I’ve got to go,” She says with a grimace and pulls him in for a brief, one armed hug. “Friday is important remember, please try and look your best.” Hermione whispers in his ear before she lets him go and begins to stroll off behind the healer.

“Wait ‘Mione, who’re you here with?” Harry calls to her retreating back. Hermione pauses and turns back to him.

“Classified Harry.” Hermione says. Then she’s gone, her robes billowing around her as she slips through the doors to the ward beyond. Harry stands there, watching them swing shut behind her. Hermione was lying, Harry has always been able to catch her in a lie and he wonders who she’s trying to protect. Harry tries not to think about it anymore as he makes his way outside, being an unspeakable means that Hermione is often bound by the rules of the job and no matter how close the three of them still are, there are some things she’s just not allowed to speak about.

Harry heads through the side entrance of the hospital where it leads out onto muggle London and is hit by a wall of thick, muggy air that’s motionless and stifling. By the time Harry’s walked the half mile to where he’d parked Sirius’ bike this morning, he’s thoroughly regretting not taking the floo to work. His leather jacket feels oppressive, sweat drips down the back of his neck, and he feels even more desperate for a shower than he had when his shift ended. Harry hurries to start the bike and pull out into the hectic London traffic, grateful for the breeze that catches him as he carefully weaves between endless cars and London’s famous open top tour busses.  

Number 12 is empty and quiet when Harry walks through the door. There’s no sign of Kreacher anywhere. Harry thinks he’s probably hanging out in the attic again. After they’d finished at Hogwarts Harry had managed to cajole some of his friends into staying at the weekends and helping him continue renovating the old Black house. They’d gone room to room replacing all the old musty furniture with more modern pieces, the floors had been stripped and revarnished, the window fittings switched out for blinds and the walls repainted. Instead of a dark and murky tomb, the Ancient Black house now looked like a modern, airy house that you’d find somewhere in Mayfair.

However, Harry had left some of the rooms untouched. Regulus’ room was very much the same only cleaner and free of dust. Harry often finds Kreacher curled up in a little makeshift nest at the foot of the four poster bed in there. Sirius’ room he left alone too, a homage to his Godfather and a place Harry often retires to when he wants to be alone and think of the people he lost.

Harry had commandeered what he assumes had been Sirius’ and Regulus’ parents room. It’s giant, probably as big as the Dursley’s entire bottom floor and Harry had installed a little sitting area, hooked up a muggle TV set and installed an enormous bathtub in the ensuite that reminded him of the prefects bathroom back in Hogwarts. Neville had come over one weekend with Luna and they’d worked together to transform one of the walk in wardrobes into a haven for Isis. Neville had created a sort of, inside garden with both magical and muggle plants that mimicked Isis’ natural habitat and Luna had worked hard to paint the walls to make it look like the more beautiful parts of the forbidden forest.

That’s where Harry finds Isis after he’s finished peeling of his sticky clothes. He left them in the laundry basket for Krecher to sort out once he’s finished doing, well whatever it is he’s doing. Isis is coiled up and fast asleep like she normally is when he gets home from the hospital and he leaves her be. Harry can’t wait until his training is finished and he’ll be able to take her along with him to work. St Mungo’s doesn’t have a specific policy about familiars being allowed to accompany healers and Harry has already managed to gain permission for Isis to work with him, but only once he’s fully qualified.

Harry showers quickly and considers his face in the mirror for a few moments after. He looks different now, the lower half of his face is covered in a dark brown beard that’s neatly trimmed, he’d switched out his old glasses for a newer pair with delicate frames but the same rounded lenses. Harry had tried a lot of different types of frames but after so many years of wearing the same style. Everything else had looked strange on him. His hair is still as wild and messy as it always was though he wears it a little longer on top and shorter around the sides these days and it has a tendency to curl a little more around his face. The main difference he can tell however, is how he’s finally started to fill out into an man’s body. His shoulders are broad and he’s managed to gain a fair amount of muscle from running most days and helping Ron keep up with his Auror training on the weekends and whenever he’s not on shift at St. Mungo’s.  

Harry grins at himself in the mirror. After so many years of being underweight and scrawny, it’s nice to look in the mirror and see something to be proud of. Despite the scars scattered across his body he thinks he looks good. Harry is well aware that muggle blokes in the gay clubs he sometimes goes to like the way he looks too because whenever he goes, he never fails to pick up someone to bring home- if he feels like it anyway. That’s another reason Harry had been so hell bent on getting Number 12 fixed up: how on earth would he have explained Mrs. Black and her screeching insults to a muggle? There’s no way Harry could ever think about picking up a one night stand from the Wizarding world either, not when he’s Harry Potter because, yeah, that would look good on the front page of the Prophet now wouldn’t it? _Harry Potter, the boy who shagged his way through the wizarding world._

Not that that’s what he’s trying to do of course. One night stands picked up from a muggle bar are easy, uncomplicated. Everybody gets off and no one gets their hearts crushed do they? Plus, Harry thinks as he changes into a pair of loose jogging bottoms and slumps on his couch in front of the TV, he’s clearly not meant to be good at relationships. First Cho, which had been an utter disaster, then Ginny who’d been nice but frankly a giant mistake then of course had come Malfoy. That had disappeared in a gentle puff of green floo powder when their final year at Hogwarts had come to a close and he’d not seen or heard from Malfoy in the two years since.

Harry conjures himself a glass of firewhiskey as he flicks through the channels looking for something to watch and suddenly feels his stomach drop as a feeling of melancholy washes over him. He never thought he’d admit it to himself but he misses Malfoy with his scathing humor and his tentative smiles saved just for Harry. He’d thought about getting in touch with Draco many times in the months following their exams, but Draco had made it pretty clear that the night in the North Tower had been their last time and Harry never wanted to risk finding Malfoy afterwards and facing possible rejection. So he’d stayed away, thrown himself into his training and spent the weekends drinking in bars and picking up guys to bring home and shag until he stopped thinking of Draco quite so often.

Harry finally manages to find a good rugby match to settle into, Leeds Rhinos are playing the Castleford Tigers and his favourite ref, Nigel Owens is on the pitch. Harry settles in with the volume turned loud so he can hear Owens taking the players to task and waits for Ron to pop over after work. Ron’ll cheer him up no doubt, Auror training sounds hard but some of the tales Ron tells are utterly hilarious and never fail to drag Harry out of a bad mood.  

**

By the time Friday night comes around Harry thinks he might just take a risk and slip Hermione a calming draft when she’s not looking. Harry glances over at Ron where he’s trying desperately to spell the creases out of his dark blue robes and thinks that Ron might just be feeling the same way as him. Hermione has been an absolute nightmare this last week, constantly fretting and flying off the handle with them both. She wasn’t even this bad when they were all preparing to take their exams, but then Harry supposes that Hermione still feels as though she has something to prove to the world. She’d become the youngest Unspeakable for over seventy years and muggleborn to boot. Harry knows that she’s incredible at her job and wishes she’d relax and realise that she’s already proved her worth time and time again.

“God Harry, help me out with this will you mate? Mione’ll kill me if there’s even one bloody thread out of place.” Ron says with a pained grimace and a glance down at his red robes similar to those the Aurors wear. Harry waves his wand over the thick folds and watches as the creases fall out seamlessly.

“Turn round,” Harry fixes the back of Ron’s robes too and then casts Ron’s favourite scent spell over the robes. “There, you look perfect.” Harry tells him and tries not to laugh when Ron spins himself around in the mirror so he can see.

“Cheers Harry. Hey you better hurry up mate. She’ll skin you alive if you’re not ready when she comes down.” Ron adds and he’s bloody right too. Harry quickly strips and starts pulling on his own robes. Hermione can take as long as she wants to get ready but Merlin help you if you’re not ready the exact instant she waltzes down the stairs.

The robes he’d ordered from a French wizarding boutique, on Hermione’s orders of course, are a lovely shade of Charcoal with tight bodice and a subtle flair at his hips. They have a long line of dark buttons that run down the right hand side of his chest, stopping at his waist and the sleeves are just loose enough to allow Harry to move freely before tapering at the wrists and finish with fitted black leather cuffs.

He’s just fastening the final button at the base of his throat when Hermione finally appears in the hallway looking absolutely radiant in the most beautiful ball gown Harry has ever seen. It’s midnight blue with a glittering sheen to it. It’s strapless with a sweetheart neckline, bodice fitted across her narrow waist to with a wide, flowing skirt that flares out towards her ankles. Ron looks as though he’s never seen anything quite so stunning before in his life, in fact, Harry can’t help but chuckle and give Ron a congratulatory pat on the shoulder because his friend actually looks like he’s been hit with a stunner at the sight of his fiancee.

“You-- Merlin’s _pants_ Hermione-- you’re gorgeous,” Ron stutters as she walks towards them both, her sleek hair cascading in wide ringlets falling over her shoulder as she moves. Harry nods his agreement and beams at her.

“Thank you Ron,” She blushes. Even after all these years, it’s clear to see why Ron and Hermione belong together. “Are you two ready?” She asks as her eyes roam over them both, checking that they look acceptable. Harry stands a little straighter as she gives him a once over. “Oh, the red actually goes quite well Harry,” She nods down towards his dark red leather boots and moves to stand between them both, holding an arm out for each of them to take. She plants a gentle kiss on each of their cheeks before turning on her dainty heels and pulling them into a side along apparition.

They apparate into a wide marble hallway drowned in pink roses and glittering rose gold candelabras and are met by a raven haired witch dressed in a set of robes that match the decor. She smiles at Hermione and Ron in welcome but her face drops comically when her eyes settle on Harry.

“Goodness, Mr. Potter what a pleasure,” She says breathlessly and holds out her hand dropping into a delicate curtsey when Harry’s palm wraps around hers. He struggles not to roll his eyes at her. The look Ron throws his way tells him he may as well get used to it; no doubt this isn’t the only person who’ll be fawning over him tonight.

They make their way into the ballroom, Ron escorting Hermione on his arm and Harry following just a step behind and as soon as they step through the gilded doors they are hit with a wall of noise. The gentle sound of violins echo through the room and can just about be heard over the low buzz of chatter from the other guests.

“Harry!” Kingsley’s distinct baritone calls to him from his left and he turns to see the Minister walking towards him dressed in the finest Agbada robes decorated in red and gold. “Good to see you again Harry, how have you been keeping?” Kingsley grabs Harry by the forearm and pulls him into a bone crushing hug.

“I’m good Kinglsey, thanks. How’s ministering treating you?” Harry waits patiently as Kingsley plants a kiss on Hermione’s hand and gives Ron a firm double handed handshake before turning to face them all.

“It would be better if I had you on the Auror force Harry,” Kingsley says and Harry just grins at him. It’s not the first time the minister has tried to convince Harry to switch to the Aurors and  probably won’t be the last either.

“Healing suits me better I’m afraid. I’m content with being on the clean up crew when the Auror’s finish hunting down the bad guys.” Harry grins. He’s been on a lot of cases where Auror’s have come in, with broken bones or suffering spell damage, he’s just glad he hasn’t had to treat Ron for anything yet. Kingsley laughs in a deep rumble and spends the next few minutes congratulating Hermione on a wonderful event and speaking to Ron about his training.

Over the course of the evening Harry dutifully makes the rounds, shaking hands and smiling while witches dressed in their finest garbs try to chat him up and a multitude of wizards coax him into reliving the final battle. Harry always manages to steer the conversation back to his healer training and how important donations are to St Mungo’s these days instead, he has no wish to relive the war. He loses track of Hermione and Ron altogether after an hour or so but finds one or two of the guys from his cohort to grab a drink with and is happy to take the focus off himself for a while as he hides at the corner of the bar, shielded by from the crowds by his friends.

He’s just starting to feel the effects of the wine when he spots a flash of white blonde hair from the corner of his eye and he spins around quickly scanning the crowd. He’s on his feet before he knows it, ignoring the questioning glances of his friends when they call his name. Harry winds his way through the crowd, barely missing stepping on the flowing hems of dresses as he moves, focused on a singular target.

“Excuse me….Sorry can I just….thanks...yes...thank you for coming, don’t forget to donate,” Harry says as he weaves his way across the floor and people turn to engage him in conversation on his way past. He’s probably being rude but his eyes are drawn to the familiar-coloured hair he can just about see across the other side of the room. Harry’s heart beats double time as he makes his way over and his stomach twists into knots. He tugs on the edges of his robes as he moves, making sure they’re still falling perfectly and runs a nervous hand through his unruly hair as he draws closer.

Striking blue eyes meet his own as he finally manages to get close and his lips curl up into his first genuine smile of the evening. Harry drops into the customary bow and looks up through his fringe.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” Harry says, reaching out to take Narcissa Malfoy’s hand in his own and placing a gentle kiss across her knuckles. He’d forgotten how alike her and Draco’s eyes were and his heartbeat falters for just a moment.

“A pleasure, Mr. Potter. I must say you are looking well. Healer training must suit you.” Narcissa says regally. She’s dressed in a rich purple set of robes in the traditional style, her white blonde hair, so like Draco’s,  falls down her back, straight and sleek. Harry hasn’t seen Narcissa since shortly after the trials when they had shared a glass of Goblin wine together in a little restaurant and they had both laid all their cards on the table so to speak. Narcissa had explained to Harry, in great detail what it had been like to have no choice but to follow Lucius’ rules in her attempt to try and spare Draco from Voldemort’s notice and Harry couldn’t even begin to imagine how trapped they must have felt.

“Very much so, I admit it can be difficult at times but I enjoy it.” Harry says and her lips tilt up in the beginnings of a smile. It hits Harry like a stunner to the gut to see Draco’s smile on her face and he swallows thickly.

“Would you care for a dance Mr. Potter?” She asks, holding out a delicate hand towards the ballroom where Harry can see couples spinning around across the floor through the open archway.

“It would be my pleasure,” Harry bows once more then offers her his arm. They walk in silence towards the ballroom as eyes turn to watch them past, some wide in shock and some with furrowed brows. Not everyone had been happy about Draco and his Mother's’ lack of jail time after all. The ministry had come under rather a lot of flack for that but Harry had stood firm in his defence of them both and he’s sure that the ministry had been to worried about turning their precious saviour on them once more.

They finally reach the ballroom and Harry catches Narcissa’s eye as he carefully leads her out onto the floor, he thinks she looks a little wary and Harry thanks his lucky stars for Hermione and her insistence that Ron and he learn how to ballroom dance properly. Dancing with Narcissa Malfoy, however, is _nothing_ like dancing with Hermione Granger. Narcissa is taller than Harry for a start and she watches Harry through her eyelashes as they float flawlessly to the rhythm. She’s also a far better dancer, not that he will ever mention that to Hermione of course, but Narcissa just exudes grace and sophistication and it shows in the way she moves.

“Miss Granger has outdone herself once again, I see,” Mrs. Malfoy speaks quietly but firmly as Harry turns her and tries not to look down to check on what his feet are doing. He’s not entirely sure whether Mrs. Malfoy is really commenting on the Gala or Harry’s ability to dance. “I expect she will manage to fulfil her goal of the evening in no time at all.”

“She’s worked very hard for months to get everything just right. I’m glad you approve.” Harry adds as they edge around the other couples. He has a sudden flashback to Dumbledore waltzing McGonagall around the yule ball so many years ago and flashes a wide grin to the room.

“I’m well aware, Miss. Granger and I have met many times over the last few months to discuss some of the arrangements for this very function.” Narcissa says cooly and Harry’s grin slips from his face, he looks at her with wide eyes.

“You and Hermione?” Harry stutters gracelessly and suddenly he feels like a stumbling fool before this regal woman. How had he not known about this beforehand? Hermione would have told him surely? Does that mean she’s seen Draco too and not told him that either? Harry wants to ask her about Draco, whether he’s ok and what he’s doing now, where he’s living but the words catch in his throat. He’s not sure he wants to hear the answer.

“Indeed, I offered Miss. Granger my assistance as I still retain a fair number of useful contacts both in Britain and Europe. Infact I do believe the rather fetching set of robes you’re wearing right now are a direct result of one of those exact same contacts over in France.” Her cool blue eyes flash quickly over his body and Harry feels his face flushing at the scrutiny. “They suit you very well Mr. Potter, no doubt your date for this evening is appropriately impressed?”

Harry flushes even redder, “Um, no date Mrs. Malfoy, just me I’m afraid.”

“Hmmm,” Is all she says, contemplating his face in a searching gaze. The music slows to an end and Harry releases Narcissa from his hold, offering her a small bow again. She’s just about to turn and walk back into the main room when Harry finally grabs hold of his Gryffindor courage and stops her with a hand on her arm.

“Mrs. Malfoy, How’s Draco?” He asks, and she looks at him with something close to approval. It’s rather an odd look on her but it’s not the first time Harry has had it directed towards him. She smiles and this time it’s full stretch of her painted lips that shows perfect white teeth.

“My son is very well thank you Mr. Potter, though I rather think you would do well to ask him that yourself don’t you?” Narcissa nods towards one corner of the room and suddenly there’s no one else surrounding them. Everyone else has fallen away to background noise as Harry spots Draco standing in a loose circle of richly garbed Wizards. Harry doesn’t see the knowing smile that Narcissa gives him, doesn’t hear another word she says as he watches Draco lift one hand to push his blonde hair back from his face the other raising a wine glass to his lips. Harry doesn’t miss the heated gaze one of the younger wizard's gives Malfoy as he licks the wine from his lips and Harry feels a sharp sting of jealousy unfurl in his stomach.

God, Draco looks even taller than the last time Harry had seen him, or maybe it’s the sharp cut of the light grey suit that hugs Draco’s body like it was made for him to be sewn in to. The trousers are slim fit and the way they show off his long legs, toned thighs and _Merlin_ his absolutely bloody brilliant arse makes Harry want to weep.

Harry grabs a glass from one of the floating trays as it saunters past him and he drains it quickly without even stopping to look at the contents. _Ugh_ he should have looked, whatever it was tastes like God, Christmas trees. Harry shudders and scowls at the glass still in his hand. Fortunately for him the disgusting drink has snapped his attention back to the room and away from Draco’s stunning figure and Harry looks around to catch sight of Ron or Hermione. He spots them talking a rather short looking Wizard in a gaudy yellow muggle suit and he quickly makes his way over to them.

“Harry!” Hermoine kisses him on the cheek and Harry smiles, by the look she throws him he’s not quite sure he managed to make it look natural. She frowns at him for a moment then turns back to the Wizard she’d been speaking to.

“I’m sorry Radomil, I need a private word with Harry for a moment,” Radomil raises his glass and nods his head.

“A pleasure Miss. Grandeur, Mr. Wesley and of course Mr. Potter.” Ron gives him a pained smile as he walks away into the crowd.

“Bloody old coot never gets anyone’s names right, just yours of course Harry.” Ron grumbles, slurping at the whiskey in his hand. “Hey mate, you alright? Look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He adds giving Harry a concerned look. Harry reaches out and grabs the glass from Ron’s hand and throws it back in one.

“Thanks,” Harry says, handing the empty glass back while Ron looks on, horrified.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” Hermione asks quietly, taking him by the arm and steering him to the edge of the room where there are less people gathered around.

“Uh, Draco’s here.” Harry tells them, his face flushing at the admission that even after all this time Malfoy can get under his skin.

“Ah, yes.” Hermione says slowly, throwing Ron a look over Harry’s shoulder. “I invited him actually.” She adds. Harry’s mouth falls open, first Narcissa and now Draco? What the hell is going on? He’s just about to ask that when Ron claps a hand on his shoulder.

“Look mate, we know that you two….you know,” Ron’s face turns that same horrible shade of pink that it goes whenever the topic of sex is brought up and Harry flinches, cringing. _God_ are they really going to have this conversation _here?_ “Hermione told me everything, well not _everything_ of course,” Ron shudders, shakes his head as if to clear it of unwanted imagery. “I mean, she told me that you to were….you know,” Ron’s eyes widen and he waggles his eyebrows and Harry just looks at him in horror.

“What _Ronald_ is trying to say,” Hermione starts, scowling at Ron before turning back to Harry. “Is that we know you and Draco were together at Hogwarts and I know you didn’t feel like you could talk to us about it but you really should have.” and oh god now her legendary scowl is set on Harry, he just about resists the urge to shrink into the corner at the glare. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure Draco misses you too you know Harry.” She softens, giving him a sad look.

“Wait, Draco misses me? Hermione how the hell do you know that?” Harry looks at Hermione as if he’s never seen her before.

“Well, Draco and I have been working together a lot lately and we sort of, go out for dinner sometimes.” She says shiftily. Harry can’t believe it, he looks between Ron and Hermione and back again. Incredulous.

“Ron?” He says, lamely.

“Sorry mate. I gotta say I wasn’t too keen the first time they went out but I reckon you were right back in school, Malfoy really has changed. Hey did you know he’s one of Hermione’s biggest benefactors?” Ron says, proudly beaming at Hermione. “Yeah, he helps ‘Mione with these things and gives a tonne of money to loads of charities.”

“That’s why we started having dinner together really, I mean after he’d taken the time to apologise to me for being an absolute prat in the beginning. Plus, it’s difficult to work alongside someone when there are old grudges in the way and Cursebreaking is a delicate art, not a lot of room for distraction so it really was for the best.” She says, the words coming out quickly. Harry realises she’s feeling guilty. He crosses his arms over his chest, the fitted robes groaning at the seams along his back and he glares down at her.

“So let me get this straight, you work with Malfoy, you have _dinner_ with Malfoy and you talk about me? You tell me he misses me and yet he’s never once owled.” Harry feels a little flush of anger that all he’d wanted to do after coming home from school was to see Malfoy and yet here he finds out that his two best friends have had more contact with Draco than he has. They both know more about Malfoy than he does these days. Harry wants to scream in frustration. He looks around the room, contemplates just getting out of here and going home or to a club maybe? Get wasted, go home, and cry in front of the telly.

“Harry, I’m sorry I should have told you I just didn’t want to upset you and Draco, well I think he was in a pretty bad way actually. You know how purebloods can be and I think he was worried about his Mother but she’s….well anyway, I’m sorry okay?” Harry just looks at her. He’d never thought about it that way before, that Malfoy might have troubles admitting he was gay to his family or how the rest of the Wizarding world might react. They’d talked about the Prophet that one time and Harry had meant it when he said that he doesn’t care what they say about him but Draco hadn’t said the same thing had he?

“Right. Right, I get it ‘Mione, really I do.” Harry deflates, the anger burning out quickly.

“I really do think you should talk to him Harry, he misses you.” She says again kindly.

“Yeah mate, from what she tells me every time your name comes up he gets these puppy dog eyes. I mean I can’t imagine it on bloody Malfoy can you?” Ron laughs, trying to lighten the mood. “Looks like you’ll get your chance anyway hey mate?” He adds, nodding over Harry’s shoulder to the crowd. Harry turns around and spots Draco making his way over to them. He wants to turn away but he can’t.

Draco moves through the throng of people like he owns the room, head held high and face set into a neutral but pleasant expression, shoulders back and those beautiful long legs taking confident strides. His eyes flicker to Harry once, his eyebrows lift just slightly and Harry can suddenly picture that puppy dog look that Ron had mentioned.

“Hermione,” Draco says smoothly, pulling her into a soft hug and kissing both her cheeks. “Weasley,” He nods at Ron, nothing’s changed there then. “Harry,” Draco nods again and Harry wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Remind him what they were together, how good they had been, could’ve been. “The place looks wonderful and if my sources are accurate, which I’m assured they are, you’ve already managed enough to fund an entire refit to both the muggle _and_ the Janus Thickey wards.” He offers a little bow in Hermione’s direction.

“Well, I wouldn’t have been able to do as much without your help of course, and Narcissa.” Hermione concedes graciously. “Thank you Draco, both you and your mother have been invaluable.”

“Of course.” Draco says haughtily but with a smile. He keeps his eyes trained on Hermione only, doesn't even look at Harry. “Thank _you_  for your help the other day, I’m not sure that I would have been able to attend tonight if it weren’t for your quick thinking.”

“Draco, you know I was only doing my job.” Hermione adds quietly with a little rosy tint to her cheeks.

“Even so.” Draco says with a small but genuine smile.

There’s an awkward moment where nobody speaks, Ron’s eyes flit between Draco and Harry looking nervous and completely out of place and Harry keeps his gaze firmly on Hermione.

“Ah, I think I see Gloria Woodburn,” Hermione says suddenly looking across the room. “She’s promised me she’ll help out at the next gala, sorry….Ron?” Hermione grabs Ron by the arm and quickly steers him away into the crowds.

Then it’s just Harry and Draco who looks utterly, heartbreakingly stunning in his muggle suit which Harry is pretty sure is designer. The pale blue shirt makes Draco’s skin shine and his eyes look a deep silver. His hair is cut shorter at the sides that Harry has ever seen it but he’s kept it long enough on top that Harry is sure it would fall across his eyes if it weren't slicked back in that style. It doesn’t matter that it’s been longer than he cares to even think about since he laid eyes on Draco, all Harry wants to do is run his hands over the blonde stubble and feel Draco’s skin under his fingertips.

“Well Potter, it’s certainly been a while,” Draco says with that trademark sneer on his face. Harry stiffens and tightens his jaw as he stares Draco down defiantly. Malfoy’s eyes rake over Harry’s body as he takes a sip of his drink. One of his perfectly shaped eyebrows raises up as he catches Harry’s eye again. “I admit I never expected to see you wearing something so sophisticated, I wasn’t even aware you knew what a decent tailor looked like.” And just like that, every warm feeling Harry had about Malfoy tonight vanishes like the echo of a patronus, leaving a much more familiar twist of annoyance settling in Harry’s stomach.

Harry grits his teeth, his eyebrows settling into a frown and crosses his arms over his chest defensively. “I see nothing much has changed, Malfoy.” He says stubbornly.

“Ah, you mean I’m still devastatingly handsome and completely irresistible? Yes I suppose that’s still true.” Draco says and pouts his lips. Harry snorts unattractively and Draco sneers at him but it doesn’t look quite as cruel as usual.

“I mean,” Harry counters frostily. “You’re still just as arrogant and bloody clueless yeah?” Harry says, his lips tightening and jaw clenching as he turns away and starts walking towards the exit. He’s done his part tonight, he’s kissed everyone’s arse quite enough for one night and even Hermione won’t be able to complain if he leaves now. He’s just not sure he can be in the same room as Malfoy if he’s going to be such a twat and he’d rather not risk hexing the git in front of all these people.

“Now come, stay and talk a while Potter, don’t tell me you left all that Gryffindor fire back at Hogwarts now did you?” Malfoy snarks as he falls into step with Harry keeping pace even when Harry begins to walk a little faster. They’re through the doorway and out in the empty hallway in no time and Harry pauses to look for the welcome witch who’d met them earlier, he’s had too much to drink to be able to risk apperating and he needs to know where the fuck the floo is.

“Fuck off Malfoy.” Harry snarls when he turns to find Draco standing close enough that Harry can smell the expensive cologne on his skin.

“Oh, come now Potter, you can’t tell me you haven’t missed this?” Malfoy waves his, now empty, hand between them both and his lips twitch up into a mocking smile.

“Can’t say that I have, no.” Harry replies stubbornly even though the smell of Draco makes his mouth water just a little and his brain is screaming at him that he’s a _liar_ . Then Draco leans in, forcing Harry to take a step backwards until his back hits one of the cool marble pillars scattered around the vast corridor. Draco’s hands shoot out to Harry’s shoulders to steady him and, _god_ , his eyes look as though they’re lit from behind by fiendfyre.

“I have,” Draco purrs, leaning even further in to whisper in Harry’s ear. “I missed _you_ , Harry _._ ” Harry shivers, because Draco’s hands on him feel wider than they had back in school, and they’re hot, or maybe that’s him? Harry thinks he wants to punch Malfoy in that beautiful fucking mouth of his, then kiss it better until Draco can’t even breathe anymore.  

Then Draco licks the shell of Harry’s ear, “Oh, _fuck,”_ Harry says, shuddering.

“My thoughts exactly Potter,” Draco whispers seductively, his breath cooling the skin where his tongue had just been. “My place? Or yours?” He wraps his arms around Harry’s waist, pulling him in close and Harry shivers. God he’s missed this confusing bastard.

Harry presses his face into Draco’s neck, lightly brushing the sweet scented skin with his lips once, before moving up to speak in Draco’s ear. “Your place.” it comes out as a broken growl and Malfoy’s hands tighten in Harry’s robes for a split second before he’s turning them both and Harry feels that familiar squeeze of apparition.

Draco’s flat is crisp and clean, just like Harry would have imagined it to be, if he’d have taken the time to think about where Draco was living these days. Harry stumbles as soon as his feet land on the black wooden floor in the open planned living room and Draco steadies him with a firm hand on his shoulder. Harry takes a moment to look around the room, white walls and light furniture, black painted doorframes and skirting boards. The place looks like something out of a magazine. When he turns back around, Draco is still standing close and looking down on him with those intense grey eyes.

“You live here?” Harry asks, stupidly. It’s the first thing that comes to mind and it slips out without thought.

“Yes.” Draco confirms, his voice still low and raspy, his eyes never move from Harry’s face.

“You never owled,” Harry adds quietly.

“No,” Draco moves away then, leaving Harry standing, watching as Draco slips the expensive tailored suit jacket from his lean shoulders and folds it carefully over the back of the sofa. Harry’s eyes follow Draco as Draco starts to carefully work the knot of his tie loose, sliding it from around his neck with the soft whisper of silk against cotton.

“You should have.” Harry adds, raising his chin defiantly. He’s posturing, he knows that but it does nothing to hide the faint quiver of his voice as his throat tightens against the wash of hurt he still feels when he thinks of Draco staying away for so long. Draco takes a few measured steps back around the sofa and comes to stand in front of Harry again.

“I know.” Draco says quietly, his eyes soft and full of an apology. Harry doesn’t know what he feels strongest, annoyance at the fact that Draco hadn’t contacted him for such a long time or overwhelming longing for the man in front of him. Then again, Harry hadn’t owled Draco either had he? He straightens and takes a step forward his eyes flicking quickly between Draco’s mouth and his eyes. With nothing more to say, Harry reaches up enough to capture Draco’s soft lips in a needy kiss and Draco immediately gets with the program.

Harry backs Draco up and presses him into the wall, his hands roaming over Draco’s shoulders, cupping either side of his throat and he finally pushes his fingers into the short stubble at the base of Draco’s neck. Draco’s hands are everywhere all at once, Harry’s back, his hips, his arse, and it feels fucking fantastic to feel Draco again.

It quickly becomes a frantic race to get each others clothes off, Harry rapidly gets frustrated by the amount of fiddly little buttons running the length of Draco’s crisp shirt and with his mouth working the sensitive skin along Draco’s neck, he lets out a growl of frustration and runs his hand up Draco’s stomach, letting his magic pop each button out of it’s hole as he brushes over them. Draco gasps at the sudden wash of magic running over him and Harry takes the opportunity to thrust his tongue into Draco’s mouth once more as he pushes the fabric from Draco’s shoulders.

Harry pulls back then, taking Draco’s shirt with him and, with a sly grin he carefully folds it over his arm and places it over the sofa on top of the jacket already laid there. When he turns back, Draco is already trailing his hand down his pale chest and Harry watches as he starts undoing the fastenings on his trousers, peeling them off and revealing a distinctive lack of underwear and a soft patch of golden curls.

Harry raises an eyebrow in surprise and Draco chuckles, a soft, melodic sound. He pushes them off, slips out of his boots and stands there, completely naked and absolutely bloody beautiful. His prick is already hard, still that pretty shade of pink as it curves up tantalisingly towards his flat, hard stomach. His legs look longer and Harry is sure that Draco has grown another inch or two since they last saw each other. Harry stalks back over, stepping over the trousers carelessly left in a heap on the floor and presses Draco back up against the wall. There’s something so erotic about being fully clothed while Draco wears nothing and he grinds his charcoal robes up and down the length of Draco’s body, wondering what on earth Krecher will say about the stains that will no doubt need to be washed out of the fabric later today.

“Merlin Potter, get those bloody things off before I cast a diffindo on them,” Draco groans as he tilts his head back against the wall so that Harry can continue working his mouth along Draco’s neck. Harry quickly undoes the fastenings running down the side of his robes, never taking his lips from Draco’s heated skin. He strips as quickly as he can manage and for the first time he’s enormously thankful that he had followed Hermione’s fashion advice and worn nothing but pants underneath.

As soon as he’s naked, Harry groans, pushing his desperate prick against Draco’s hip and already feeling completely lost in the feel of Draco’s body moving against him once more. He casts, quickly and silently, not wanting to waste even a moment and smirks when Draco shivers at the cleaning spell that washes through his body. Another silent charm, one he learnt in Healer training and his hand is coated in soft, efficient lube and Harry dips his hand between Draco’s legs and presses one finger inside. Draco’s hips jerk and his mouth latches onto Harry’s once more as Harry uses his free hand to lift one of Draco’s legs, hooking Draco’s knee around the crook of his elbow to get enough room so he can work two more fingers in.

“ _Merlin_ Potter,” Draco groans as Harry twists his fingers and scissors them apart. Harry’s arms are trembling where they’re straining to hold most of Draco’s weight but he can’t even think of putting Draco down, not when he looks this perfect pressed into the wall with his thighs spread and his arse tight around Harry’s fingers.

“Tell me no one’s fucked you like I do Draco, tell me you never found anyone who makes you fucking _moan_ like I do,” Harry groans, fucking his fingers into Draco far quicker than he probably should but neither of them care, they’ve gone too long without feeling each other and the desperation quickly takes over. Harry feels that sick twisting burn of jealousy in the pit of his stomach again at just the thought of Draco being with someone else.  

“ _Fuck,_ no one Potter, no one even came fucking close,” Draco gasps out, his eyelids fluttering, head tilting back and his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows thickly.

They don’t even make it to the bedroom. Harry has Draco in the doorway, spinning him around roughly and pushing him up against the doorjamb. They’re half in the living room and halfway into the hall, Draco’s back arched in a beautiful curve, pushing his arse out. Harry has just enough room in the doorway if he wants to, to lean back against the jamb and pull Draco back onto him, to bounce him on Harry’s prick. He doesn’t, Harry wants control here. He thrusts into Draco with long, sure strokes as Draco trembles and grips the door frame so tight his knuckles turn an even paler shade of white.

Harry leans in and whispers in Draco’s ear, “You missed me? Missed my cock? Like me fucking you, yeah?” His rhythm never falters, just pushing into Draco with a precision that makes Draco whimper in response. “Merlin you’re such an arrogant, aggravating bastard Malfoy, you know that? With your bloody perfect muggle suits and your flirting. I bet you don’t even know you’re doing it yeah? God, you’re so fucking sexy.”  

“ _Yes,”_ Malfoy moans breathlessly. Harry tugs at Draco’s hips, pulling him backwards and forcing him to bend his knees so he can push in a little deeper. He wraps one arm around Draco’s shoulder, the other under his opposite arm, caging Draco in and plastering himself to Draco’s back. Harry’s hands cross over Draco’s chest, finding the hard pink nipples and flicks his thumbs over them in time to the pounding of his cock.

Draco’s head hits the door frame with a muted thud. He reaches down to wrap his long fingers around his cock where it strains up towards his belly and jumps every time Harry’s prick strokes over his prostate.Harry can feel it every time he hits his mark, Draco’s breath catches in a gasp and the muscles running down the back of his thighs where they’re pressed against Harry’s jolt like they’re hooked up to electrodes.

“Harder,” Draco huffs. “Fuck me _harder_ .” He snaps and Harry moans a filthy sounding _yes_ as he reaches out and grabs the back of Draco’s neck, pushing his fingers up to spread wide across the base of Draco’s skull. He wraps his other hand around Draco’s hips and _pounds_ into him harder than he’s ever fucked anyone in his life. Harry can’t speak, his throat is tight and dry and his teeth clench down on his bottom lip as he desperately tries to hold on long enough to make Draco come apart underneath him. His thigh muscles burn hot as though they’re filled with thick poison and his toes curl against the wood grain as he drives in relentlessly.

Draco’s hole spasms, Harry can feel it gripping his prick and he winces, hips stuttering at the sudden tightness. He’s so fucking close but he _needs_ to feel Draco coming. “Yeah _. Good_ Draco, come on.” Harry growls and tightens his fingers around Draco’s neck and hip. Draco’s arsehole flutters around Harry’s prick, he moans long and loud, gasps out a strangled _“Harry!”_ and then he’s coming. Draco’s hand tugging at his own cock as it pulses, spilling come along the black painted door frame and across the perfect black wood floor.

Harry slowly pulls out, Draco still fluttering wildly around him, his forehead pressed into the door frame and his back heaving with heavy, laboured breaths. He shifts as if he’s going to push himself away from the wall but Harry stops him with a wide palm against his back.

“Stay there,” Harry rasps out, taking himself in hand and fucking quickly into his fist. “Want to come all over you.” He adds and grins wickedly when Draco pushes his arse back a little more, arching his lower back and giving Harry such a beautiful canvas to paint.

The noises Harry makes as his fist flies over his cock sound utterly obscene and it’s only moments before his fingers are digging harshly into Draco’s back as he’s coming over Draco’s beautiful arse, the subtle dimples on his lower back and the very tops of Draco’s thighs.

“Fuck yes,” Harry moans as his prick finally finishes pulsing and he falls forward, spreading himself along Draco’s endless skin and wrapping his arms around Draco’s tight waist. Harry lets his cheek rest between Draco’s shoulder blades and listens to the rapid thrumming of both of their heartbeats as they catch their breath.

“I think my legs are going to give way,” Draco finally says, shifting his hips slightly and dislodging Harry from his back.

“Sorry,” Harry says, moving back and giving Draco room to finally straighten up once more. Harry quickly waves out a cleaning charm, siphoning off the come and lube from Draco’s body and leaving him with a wonderful pink tinge to his skin.

Harry reaches for his boxers, stepping into them and stumbling a little on shaky legs and struggling slightly because he suddenly realises that he still has his bloody boots on. Harry wonders whether he should just keep them on, whether he’s going to be staying or whether he should just pull his robes back on and leave. It’s not what he wants, but he suddenly has no idea what Draco expects.

Before Harry can make a move, Draco straightens up and walks, completely naked and unashamed, into the kitchen. Harry watches him as he flits from cupboard to cupboard, pulling down two tumblers, a bottle of Gin and then moving to the fridge and pulling out a bottle of tonic and an Orange.

“I did mean to owl you, you know.” Draco says as he pulls a knife from a draw in the black granite kitchen island and begins to slice the orange. Harry is once again hypnotised by the way Draco’s nimble fingers wrap around the fruit and slide along the black handled knife.

“Yeah?” Harry says, crossing his trembling arms over his bare chest and leaning his arse on the back of the sofa next to Draco’s suit. A little drop of sweat rolls down between Harry’s shoulder blades and over the small of his back and he reaches back to wipe at it with the back of his hand.

“Yes.” Draco states firmly, looking up at Harry and holding his gaze for a moment.Harry’s spent prick gives a pathetic little twitch and Harry is pretty sure that it won’t take long before he’s hard as a rock again if Malfoy carries on looking so frustratingly gorgeous.

“So why didn’t you?” Harry asks as he crosses one ankle over the other, his red leather boots still stubbornly in place.

“Well, it’s rather a boring story actually,” Draco begins, pouring the Gin and tonic into each glass and dropping an orange slice into each one. “It starts off with me being a complete coward and basically ends with your Granger handing me my balls.”

Harry laughs, leaning backwards and feeling the tight stretch of his abs from their recent, vigorous workout. “Hermione?”

“Yes, she’s a sneaky one that one. Always managed to slip you into our little conversations here and there.” Draco says as he walks around the counter, prick soft and swinging lightly. He stops before Harry and hands him a glass. “I rather think her and Weasley were playing some sort matchmaking game.”

Harry nods, taking a drink and just about manages to keep from grimacing, Gin has never been his favourite drink but the addition of the orange slice improves the taste.

“She’s been onto me for months about whether I was planning on bringing a date to this thing tonight you know? I thought she was trying to get me into dating but now I wonder if they had this planned all along.” Harry says, tipping the glass back and swallowing the remainder in one go. A slight shudder rushes through him and Draco curls his lip. He’s probably judging Harry for being such a heathen. Harry grins at him and uncrosses his ankles, making room for Draco to stand between his legs.

“Yes, I rather suspect that was likely the case actually.” Draco says. “I take it you’re _not_ dating then?” Draco’s eyes go that pale shade of silver that Harry missed so much.

“No, no boyfriend, no girlfriend despite what the Prophet might try and claim.” Harry confirms as Draco steadily moves closer, his tongue sliding out and across his bottom lip. “I was waiting for something a little more special actually.” He adds.

Draco hums, lifts his glass to his mouth and drinks, slowly until the glass is empty. Harry watches as Draco’s long fingers reach into the glass and fish out the slice of orange. Draco sucks it between his teeth until there are only shreds and pith left before dropping it back into the glass, reaching for Harry’s and turning to place them both back on the counter. “Now, as kinky as it is to see you in nothing but your Auror style boots,” Draco says seductively as he turns back around. “I rather think you should remove them and then come and fuck me on my bed.” Harry huffs, his lip twisting up in a smile at the corners but bends down to pull at his laces and toe the boots off.

“Not feeling kinky tonight then?” Harry challenges, Draco lifts one shoulder in a half shrug then starts walking towards an open doorway leading to the hall. He stops beside the come- covered doorframe and looks back over his shoulder at Harry.

“Let’s save that for next time shall we?” Draco says and Harry nods, then pushes himself off the sofa and trails behind Draco through the pristine hallway and into Draco’s bedroom. The room is very much the same as the living room and kitchen. The walls are clean and a crisp white, the furniture and floors are dark high end finished wood and there are barely any trinkets or ornaments along the surfaces. For Harry, it just screams Draco Malfoy, simplistic even in its complexities yet expensive and understated all in one. The bed is large and looks very similar to the one that Draco had transfigured that night up in the North Tower and Harry wonders whether Draco had picked it for that reason.

Draco stands beside the bed, arms folded across his body, the faint hint of his dark mark peeking out between the pale flesh and his face looks, well a little nervous actually. Harry reaches out to him and strokes the tips of his fingers across Draco’s forehead, brushing aside one stray blonde strand and pushing it back into place.

“Are you going to owl me after tonight?” Harry asks softly.

“No,” Draco shakes his head slightly but unfolds his arms and reaches out to Harry’s hips, pushes his fingers underneath the waistband of Harry’s boxers. Before Harry has a chance to question Draco, he adds, “I was rather hoping you’d still be here in the morning actually.”

Harry laughs, _God_ , he’d forgotten how confusing Draco can be, he’s out of practice at translating Malfoy into regular English. He can see Draco’s prick starting to fatten once more and he shifts closer. “And what about after that?” Harry trails his hands up Draco’s sides, loving the way the muscles flutter under his palms and how Draco’s cock fills even quicker as he touches.

“Yes,” Draco is breathless now and leaning in. Harry pulls back ever so slightly, teasing, enjoying the darkening grey pools that roam over Harry’s face hungrily.

“Yes?” Harry counters, his mouth twitching before he pulls his bottom lip in and drags his teeth across it. Draco breathes even heavier at the sight.

“I won’t stay away, I can’t.” Draco adds, looking up and pinning Harry with a fierce glare. “I mean it Harry, I tried to stay away from you, tried to do my duty and think about marrying and producing an heir but I’m not entirely sure you haven’t completely ruined me you know.”

“Yes,” Harry breathes, leaning in and taking Draco’s lips between his own then pulling back to whisper against Draco’s beautiful mouth. “You ruined me too you bloody glorious git.” Then Draco is reaching into Harry’s boxers and cupping his cock which is now almost fully hard once more and feeling extra sensitive. Draco pushes Harry’s boxers off and they stand, rubbing against each other and kissing until Draco’s chin is rosy pink from the scratch of Harry’s beard.

Harry pushes Draco down onto his back and shuffles forwards on his knees until he’s close enough to rub the head of his cock against Draco’s hole. “Merlin Draco,” He breathes, staring down at Draco’s tight and well kept body. Draco’s cock is such a fucking pretty shade of pale pink, his foreskin stretched with only a tiny amount still covering the wet tip. Draco’s balls are high and tight and the same soft colour as his cock, the golden hair covered skin darkening to a dusky rose colour the further down his crack it goes until it reaches that little furrow where it darkens. Harry leans down, burying his face into Draco’s curls and dragging his tongue along the crease of his groin. He moves slowly this time, working his tongue and lips over Draco’s balls, down over his beautiful hole and back up until the head of Draco’s cock slips between Harry’s lips and coats his tongue with a beautiful drop of precome. Draco moans, his hips shifting upwards in search of the warmth of Harry’s mouth and Harry is tempted to press his palms into Draco’s thighs and hold him still.  

Harry lavishes Draco’s cock slowly, taking time to enjoy it now that they’re not in a frantic rush or desperately trying to get off in a school classroom before anyone finds them. Draco tastes amazing, feels amazing and when Harry looks up he can’t honestly believe someone can look as perfect as this man beneath him.

“If you’re planning on fucking me again tonight Potter, I’d get that fantastic arse of yours up here and bloody well get on with it before I lose control and come all over that revolting beard of yours.” Draco growls when Harry sucks down his cock as far as he can take it. He pulls off, chuckling.

“I really have missed you, you know.” Harry says as he makes his way back onto his knees between Draco’s legs. He takes hold of his throbbing prick in his hand and starts to slowly tease Draco’s arse with it as he once again whispers the spell to coat his palm in lube and spreads it over his cock, then moves to smear a filthy line of it up Draco’s prick, over his balls and then around the rim of his arsehole. Draco’s hole quivers each time Harry drags his cock through the slick and over his hole, the flushed, puffy  pucker enticing him in. Draco is shiny and wet with lube and Harry adds to the mess of it all as he rubs precome around the spazming ring and gently begins to tease himself inside.

“Huh, _oh_!” Draco whimpers as Harry pushes forward, moving closer until he’s fully seated. Harry presses in as far as he can go and pulls Draco back by the hips until his beautiful arse is resting on Harry’s thighs. He starts fucking Draco with deep, quick thrusts, his hands caressing the pale skin along Draco’s ribs. He flattens his palms, drags them over Draco’s skin until he can work his thumbs over Draco’s nipples again. Harry’s back is straight; his legs bent with Draco’s arse in his lap as his hips rabbit; the muscles in his arse and stomach contract as Draco whines underneath him. Harry can’t take his eyes of the miles of pale skin covered in a spreading, patchy flush so deep it looks the colour of pink sapphire. It darkens to a warm crimson as it spans up the length of Draco’s throat and across his cheeks and Harry wants to lick every inch of skin coloured by Draco’s arousal.

Harry lifts one of Draco’s long pale legs and throws it over his shoulder, kisses the rounded calf muscle as he drags Draco’s other leg over his thigh to wrap around his hip. He picks up the rhythm again, driving even deeper into Draco’s encompassing heat until the only sound Draco seems able to make is a series of breathy _oh, oh, oh’s._ Harry digs his fingers into the hard muscle of Draco’s thigh around his hip and wraps his arm around the leg over his shoulder. He leans forward, forcing Draco to spread his legs even wider as he bends Draco almost in half just so he can capture his lips, swallowing the noises Draco can’t seem to stop from slipping out.

Harry ravishes Draco’s mouth with his tongue, _god_ , he’s waited so long to feel like this again, to have Draco underneath him once more. He pulls back to watch again, grabbing Draco’s hand and wrapping it around Draco’s straining cock. “Touch yourself, _please.”_ Harry whispers, so quietly, so reverently. “Good,” He growls when Draco starts working himself quickly, his other hand behind his head, holding himself up so he can watch Harry fucking into him in harsh bursts.

Harry slides his hand back up the leg still braced against his shoulder, wraps his fingers around Draco’s calf muscle and up to caress his ankle. He turns his head to smear open mouthed kisses along Draco’s ankle, up the graceful arch of his foot and runs his tongue along the outer edge of Draco’s big toe.

“ _Merlin,”_ Draco gasps out as Harry opens his mouth and wraps his lips around Draco’s toe, sucking and circling his tongue around it in imitation of the filthiest blow job possible. Draco’s back arches, rigid nipples thrusting out and teasing Harry, begging him to touch. The arm holding Draco’s neck up gives out and his head falls back onto the bed, his white hair mussed wildly and spread across his navy sheets.

Draco’s cries and little breathy noises start to increase in pace and Harry knows he’s close. He pushes in harder, faster, angling himself just right to put constant pressure on Draco’s prostate and he grits his teeth against the clenching heat around his prick as he tries to hold back enough to make it last.

Draco goes over first, his entire body tightening up as he empties out all over his beautiful tight stomach and Harry is fast on his heels, shuddering and collapsing forward as his mind zones out and he spills into Draco with a fury he’s never felt before now. They lay, heaving against each other until they can both breathe properly again and Harry shifts off Draco’s body and onto the bed beside him.

It’s Draco that cleans them up this time and Harry smiles, the soft scent of citrus washing over him as Draco’s spell does it’s work. He’s exhausted and he wriggles around in the bed until his head hits a soft pillow and he can make his way underneath the covers. Draco joins him a moment later, his overheated body curling around Harry’s side, fingers tracing lines up and down Harry’s chest.

There’s so much Harry wants to say right now but his lips feel a little numb and his brain hasn’t yet begun to function correctly. He’s tired and Draco is warm wrapped around him so he settles with pulling Draco’s arm across his body and traces the lines of the Dark Mark still standing out starkly on the pale skin.

 

**

 

“Coffee Potter, I need coffee,” Harry wakes to find himself curled up close to the edge of Draco’s bed with an awful lot of pale skin and long limbs taking up the rest of it. Draco waves an arm out from within a tight bundle of sheets and a mountain of pillows and Harry can just about make out the messy sprawl of blonde hair peeking out from within a fold. Harry blinks, rubs the sleep from his eyes and squints around to find his glasses. He doesn’t remember taking them off last night but finds them neatly folded on the small dark table beside the bed. He smiles softly, he must have fallen asleep and Draco must have removed them for him.

“Why aren’t you moving yet?” Draco’s muffled voice makes it’s way from within the folds of the bed and Harry snorts but stays where he is, stretching the kinks out of his body. “I’ll give you a brilliant blow job if you bring me coffee within the next ten minutes.” Draco adds, his voice sounding a little softer and a lot more hopeful now.

“Deal,” Harry says with a laugh. He really hadn’t expected anything less. He leans over and kisses a line across the back of Draco’s shoulders before he pushes himself from the bed and pulls his boxers on roughly. As Harry stands and stretches again, he hears a rustling from behind him and turns to find Draco’s sleepy, warm face peeking out from within the covers, his eyes gleaming as he takes in Harry’s body.

“Mmmm, yes coffee, then blow job.” Draco grins wickedly and Harry has to force himself to walk out of the room and head for the kitchen.

Harry freezes as soon as he takes the first step into the living area and finds that he’s not alone.

“Um,” Harry gapes, rendered completely speechless.

“Ah, Good morning Mr. Potter.” Mrs. Malfoy turns to face him, her eyebrows quirking up as she takes in Harry’s lack of appropriate clothing. Narcissa turns away from him once more but soon turns back to him, walking slowly forward, this time holding out Harry’s robes from the previous night out to him. He pulls them on as quickly as he can, hurrying to fasten up enough buttons to cover any skin then offers her a slight grimace.

“Ugh, Sorry.” Harry offers, a sheepish look on his face. “I should….Draco,” Harry gestures over his shoulder towards where he’s left Draco naked and beautiful, splayed across the bed.

“I imagine he’ll be wanting coffee?” Narcissa asks walking into the kitchen and waving her wand around the room elegantly.

“Yeah, coffee, definitely.” Harry manages stupidly. He’s not entirely sure that he isn’t having a bloody nightmare right now actually.

“Before Draco joins us, I wish to let you in on a secret Mr. Potter.” Narcissa says as cups and a kettle begin to zoom around the kitchen and settle into place. “Do sit.” Harry drops himself onto one of the stools at the little kitchen island as if he’s been hexed to do so. “I’m aware that Draco is a rather private man; however, I wish to tell you Mr. Potter that the boy who returned to me after his final year at Hogwarts was certainly not the same boy I sent there after the war. I believe I have you to thank for bringing my son back to me.” Narcissa inclines her head towards Harry but he says nothing. He’s still not entirely sure what’s happening here. She hands him an empty cup and he stares at it in confusion. “It wasn’t until I began meeting with Miss. Granger that I finally realised what had transpired between yourself and Draco. When I arrived at that conclusion, I set out to reassure Draco that his choices are now very much his own and that he is no longer bound by the rigid rules of pureblood society or what his Father expected from him.”

Harry nods, feeling like he might finally be understanding things a little better and watches as Narcissa floats effortlessly around the little kitchen space as if it were her own.

“I’m only sorry, for your sake and for Draco’s that I did not see what had happened sooner. You understand Mr. Potter, my son has rather strong feelings for you and I...I wish for him to be happy, regardless with whom he may find that happiness.” She turns, removing the kettle from the hob with a swish of her wand and directing the dark contents into Harry’s mug. Harry sips at it, the hot coffee burning his throat as it goes down and causing his eyes to water furiously.

“How long does it take to make a bloody coffee-where did you go for it, Yemen?” Harry’s eyes widen in horror as he hears Draco’s sharp voice coming closer, making his way down the hall and Harry just prays that he’s got some bloody clothes on. Harry looks up at Narcissa who turns her back delicately to the doorway, obviously prepared for her son to be in a state of undress much like Harry had been.

“OH! For fucks _sake_ Mother!” Draco groans as he spots Narcissa, he’s got a black silk dressing gown on- thank _fuck-_ and he pauses to throw Harry a very naughty wink before walking up to his mother and gently placing his hands on her shoulders. She turns and allows Draco to kiss both her cheeks before she steadily hands him a cup full with coffee.

“We had a breakfast date Draco, or had you forgotten?” Narcissa asks and Harry is sure he can see a faint hint of a smile on her face. “No matter, Mr. Potter and I were just enjoying a brief catch up. Should I inform Mr. Zabini that you will be owling him to reschedule later in the week?” Narcissa adds with a quick glance in Harry’s direction.

“Yes, tell Blaise I’ll catch up with him but _don’t_  breathe a word of this to him, I want to see his face when I tell him.” Draco grins and Narcissa’s mouth twitches once more. he places her own cup back onto the counter and with a gentle smile she makes her way towards the fireplace.

“It was a pleasure to see you again Mr. Potter. Do promise me that you will accept an invitation to the Manor when you are ready? I believe that I am not the only one there that would enjoy a visit from you. Draco. Wednesday, do not forget this time.” Mrs. Malfoy throws a pointed gaze in Draco’s direction before twisting away in a puff of green flames.

“Oh my God,” Harry groans, dropping his head onto the countertop. “I cannot believe that just happened.” Harry whines into the granite. Draco’s fingers press firmly into Harry’s shoulders and begin to carefully massage the tense muscles while Harry tries valiantly to die of shame.

“At least you weren’t naked,” Draco whispers into Harry’s hair.

“I wasn’t far off, oh _Merlin_ I’m never going to be able to face her again am I?” Harry groans again, reliving the awful memory of Narcissa Malfoy’s face as she’s confronted with him in bloody pants.

“You’ll have to, you’ve been invited to the Manor and she won’t forget it in a hurry.” Draco chuckles as he slides his hands underneath Harry’s and wraps them around Harry’s chest.

Harry sits up suddenly, wide eyed as he turns to look at Draco over his shoulder. “Who was she talking about, who else is at the Manor that would want to see me?” Harry asks, confused but Draco’s hands are moving to the buttons of his robes now and slowly working them open.

“Severus. He has a portrait in Father’s old study.” Draco says, quietly whispering it into Harry’s ear. “Apparently he spends a lot of time telling my mother just how good you are at potions these days. If I didn’t know better I’d say he’s rather proud actually.”

“Really….that’s...actually can we not talk about Snape while you’re doing _that_ ,” Harry says as Draco’s hands make his way inside his robes and brush over his nipples.

Draco laughs and the warm breath over Harry’s skin makes him shiver. “Only if you tell me this won’t be over when you return home.” Draco whispers and the tone of his voice is so open and raw that Harry twists in his seat to capture Draco’s mouth in a sweet kiss.

“You’re stuck with me I’m afraid, for as long as you want me.” Harry murmurs against Draco’s mouth, sighing happily at the thought of finally getting something he wants. “Now I think you promised me something special in exchange for your coffee?” Harry says, turning in his seat and letting his robes fall from his shoulders. Draco grins at him and kisses him once more before dropping to his knees and looking up at Harry with heated eyes.

Harry wonders if he was ever destined to have a boring life. As he watches Draco at his feet, he thinks maybe not.

And he’s absolutely fine with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again everyone for welcoming me into the HP fandom it was so much fun to write about these characters that have been a giant part of my life for the last twenty years (twenty years can you believe it?!). 
> 
> I'm sure I'll dip my toes into the fandom again but for now, I'm off to crawl back to my TWD hometown and finish my longest fic that i've been working on for the last 8 months!


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